


The Secret Origin of Teresa Ortiz

by EvilRegalOutlaw (youfixedmybrokenwings)



Category: Boomtown (TV 2002)
Genre: Boomtown characters won't appear until Part II, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youfixedmybrokenwings/pseuds/EvilRegalOutlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of weakness when she was twelve cost her her childhood, but will it cost her her life as well? Will she ever break free from the memories that haunt her? Boomtown fic exploring Teresa's backstory, inspired by part of this tumblr post: http://hernymills.tumblr.com/post/92951514511/boomtown-spoilers-ahead<br/>Starts about ten years or so before the show begins, will diverge from show canon when timelines catch up. Teresa/Joel endgame. Trigger warning: rated M for gang violence, sexual assault and mention of STDs.<br/>I don't own Boomtown, Teresa, Joel, Tom, Ray, Fearless etc, but any other characters are mine. Title taken from Arrow's episode 'The Secret Origin of Felicity Smoak'.<br/>Full disclaimer: I have never experienced any of the things Teresa does in this fic so if I offend anyone or it is inaccurate please tell me and I will do my best to correct it.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I - Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: mentions of cancer, rape, gang violence pretty much throughout. Plus the inevitable frequent injuries when writing a story about a paramedic. I'm aiming to keep it as implicit as possible, maybe like a TV-14 or TV-15 rating, if this were what actually happened in the Boomtown flashbacks but it's either PG-13 or M so I went M for safety.
> 
> OK. Boomtown. I love this show, I only found it a couple of years ago when I ran out of Lana Parrilla interviews to watch and it's great, but one thing that always annoyed me was the treatment of Lana's character, paramedic Teresa Ortiz. She had a great tension with Joel Stevens, a close friendship with just a little hint of deeper feelings under the surface from both of them. It may have just been Lana's chemistry with everyone but I loved watching it. But he was married with a child; of course they had to repair his relationship with his wife by the end of Season 1. I like Teresa; I could have loved her if she'd had a bit more character development but apparently they scrapped the story they had for her in the pilot (see link in the description for the rant that planted the seed for this story in my mind) and she ended up a bit of a saint and a recurring character billed as a regular. So I decided to write my own version of her backstory. All I'm using is my imagination and some limited research (there's only so far I can dig into Google before it becomes messy) - I haven't experienced any of this firsthand and if any part of it, especially anything that's typically American, is inaccurate please do tell me, and I will try my best to fix it!

Sitting in the corner of the room she was forced to call home, Teresa listened to the sounds of fighting outside. Gunshots, stabs, the screams of victims and triumphant yells, mixed with dogs barking and, somewhere in the distance, a police siren wailing. She bent her head to her knees and covered her ears with her arms, trying to block out the sounds she hated so much. Her head ached, she was hungry and the wound on her leg from the last fight was still bad. Her long hair fell around her face, the string with which she'd tied it back proving inadequate for her messy curls.

Suddenly, her arm was gripped and she found herself on her feet, a gun held to her chin.

"Ortiz, if you don't get out there and fight for us I'm gonna shoot you dead right now." The leader, a vicious twenty-five-year-old with the build of a Greek soldier growled threateningly into her ear. She nodded at once, knowing he meant every word.

"Good girl." His hand slipped down her arm to curl tight around her waist, the gun moving to the back of her neck. "Remember what this means," he murmured, pressing on the tattoo there.

She nodded again and headed for the door as he finally let go, taking the knife out of her belt. He smacked her backside hard as he caught up with her, no doubt adding to the palm-shaped bruise already there. She could only fight back the tears as they ran into the fray.

Twenty minutes later and the fighting showed no signs of stopping. The police siren Teresa had heard clearly wasn't headed towards them, as no one turned up, so she had no idea when this would end. Or if it ever would.

Wiping away the blood trickling into her eyes from a stone wound on her forehead she turned and grabbed the nearest rival, pushing him easily to the ground. Too easily - she flicked her hair out of her face and froze. The boy whose throat was currently in full contact with the sharp edge of a knife looked no older than twelve. Her mind flashed back to six years ago, held against the floor with a knife to her throat, threatening to spill blood if she didn't capitulate. She couldn't do it.

The air suddenly split with the sound of police sirens. The gangs scattered, each man for himself and the fight forgotten as they ran to their respective hideouts. Teresa let the boy go, but couldn't move as what she'd been about to do crashed down on her. Car brakes screeched a few blocks away, knocking her to her senses. She pulled herself up and half-limped, half-ran to a shallow hole under the rotting wooden walkway. She reached it just as four police officers jumped out, guns poised and ready. Paralysed with fear and pain she found herself holding her breath as they patrolled the walkway mere centimetres above her head. Her wounds ached. Somehow she always seemed to get beaten up more, though she stayed away from the thick of the fighting as much as she could. Thankfully Bill and his henchmen preferred numbers to skill, otherwise she would have been turned out years ago. It was safer to fight.

The police left after a while, having found no one. Teresa wasn't sure whether she was relieved or not; being arrested meant she had a chance of getting out of here but it also meant a spell in prison first, and she'd heard so many horror stories about how they treat gang members in the young offenders' institute. If she even counted as a 'young offender' any more now that she'd turned eighteen.

Even when she saw the others starting to crawl out from their hiding places, she didn't move. She was surly hit with the realisation that she had a chance to run and by God she would take it if it killed her. When everyone had slipped into the hut and the door had shut behind them, she crawled painfully out of the hole, the ground scraping her already raw hands and sore leg. Keeping low and to the long evening shadows she limped along, trying to remember the way to the nearest bus station. She'd lived in Sacramento all her life, but as a child she'd never explored the streets like her playfellows did, until she found herself banned from certain streets and neighbourhoods by the tattoo.

Hungry, dazed from her headwound and disorientated in the darkness of the unlit back streets, she wandered all night, eventually collapsing behind an overflowing bin. Rummaging through the rubbish she found a few edible scraps and wolfed them, taking only a couple of sips of the half-drunk water bottle she'd found and saving the rest for later, before curling up in a ball and closing her eyes.

Years of living rough meant she slept light and woke at the slightest noise, so when the first early wakers turned on their lights in the buildings surrounding her makeshift bed she was instantly awake and aware of where she was. She was just glad to have escaped one night of the hell the leaders inflicted on the girls, and sometimes the boys, back in the hut. More rummaging found her breakfast, then she hauled herself up and continued along. Eventually she found one of the main streets, cars, buses and taxis just starting to trundle along to early shifts, coffee shops on the verge of opening. No one spared a glance at the bedraggled girl with the limp and she was able to pickpocket a good number of coins until someone knocked into her and she stumbled into one of the tables outside a cafe.

"Watch it!" the patron whose coffee was only slightly spilled angrily lashed out, and Teresa backed away, hands out in apology. The man who'd bumped into her was now a hundred yards down the road; a waitress came running out to see what the commotion was as he started to insist on a fresh cup.

"This girl knocked into me and spilled my coffee!" the customer ranted. Teresa kept her head down.

"It's only a little bit spilled, sir. I can get you another right away. On the house."

"I demand this idiot pays for it." Teresa's head snapped up. "Pick up your jaw, girl. You'll never get a boyfriend like that."

The waitress looked at her apologetically. "Sir, I will go get you a fresh coffee. Miss, would you come with me, please?"

"Don't bother with niceties," he sneered. "Clumsy, uneducated street rat."

Teresa ducked her head as she followed the waitress into the shop. It was empty, everyone else apparently preferring to take away. She was well used to insults but that didn't mean they didn't hurt. As the girl prepared the drink she asked Teresa if she had any money on her.

"No, ma'am," she replied quietly, hoping against hope she was more trusting than the man sitting outside, now lighting up a cigarette.

"Don't mind him. He's a regular, but a regular what, I'm not allowed to say that on the clock. He was probably just after another biscuit; we refill spilled coffees on the house anyway."

Teresa gave a wane smile at the first comment in spite of herself. The waitress put the cup and saucer on a tray with a complimentary biscuit and leaned over the counter. It was all she could do not to shy away.

"Who are you? Running away? Homeless?"

She didn't reply.

"Well, pretend to hand me some money, he'll be watching to see you pay, and I'll let you get on your way. OK?"

Teresa glanced out the window to see that yes, the man was watching them through the glass. She dug her hand into her empty pocket and pretended to count out coins, then the waitress thanked her and let her go, but not without a pitying glance.

She hurried down the street, her leg making it more and more difficult, until she came across a bus stop. There was a bus there at the moment, engine off, waiting the ten minute layover until it could go. She climbed on in reply to an impulse.

"How much is it to the long-distance bus depot?"

"I couldn't tell you that. Wait for number 34, he goes that route. But he might not take you there, mind." The driver glanced up and down Teresa's person and she shivered under the judgemental gaze. "If you're not sitting down, I'm going now."

"Thank you," she replied as politely as she could manage, and hopped off the bus to save her aching leg as the bus rumbled into life.

As Teresa waited in the corner of the shelter, she couldn't help but glance around every few seconds. She couldn't be that far from the gang's territory and it was only a matter of time before they found her. They probably already knew she was gone. They always did. No matter how new or insignificant one member was they always knew.

People glanced at her perching on the bench and decided to stand instead, glancing over at her and mumbling to each other about the state of the homelessness situation and the numbers of teenagers running away had reached. But not one offered a smile or a helping hand.

Bus number 34 wasn't too long in coming, and despite what the other driver had said he did let Teresa ride, "as long as she didn't muck up his seats". She'd managed to pickpocket a good amount, so she had quite a lot left over and no one asked any questions. So she stood hanging onto the rail for dear life as he swung around corners and almost did an emergency stop at the bus depot, then thanked him and hurried inside as the clouds that had been brewing all morning opened.

She'd been awake for a good few hours now and her stomach was rumbling, but the most important thing was a bus ticket to LA. The man at the till gave her a look but didn't turn her away.

"How much to LA?" she asked, trying not to sway.

"It's not direct, you'll have to change in San Francisco. Fifty dollars all the way, or ten to San Francisco."

"What's the changeover time like?"

The man clicked through his computer. "The next bus leaves in twenty minutes and takes just under two hours, obviously without traffic...San Fran to LA is seven hours forty minutes with three stops in between. Changeover between them is, well, there's one twenty minutes after the first one gets in. They're the same time every day. Designed so people can sightsee if they want." He spared a glance at her dishevelled appearance and clear lack of money but didn't say anything.

Teresa was forced to make up her mind: there was no way she had fifty dollars in her pockets.

"Single to San Francisco, please."

Her ticket was drawn up and she just about managed to scrape ten dollars from the shrapnel she'd lifted then scarpered for bay 18. Everyone was getting on, so she tried to make herself inconspicuous in the crowd and made her way to the very back, a window seat so she wouldn't be in anyone's way.

No one questioned her right to be on that bus, but the four other seats at the rear remained empty until the rest of the bus filled up, when one person sat at the other window and ignored her.

The journey went without incident, though she was feeling faint with hunger when she got off she was used to it and pushed through. It was sunny in the city, and the light shining through the large windows only exacerbated her headache. She'd slept a bit on the coach, but the motion of the bus had kicked her forehead against the window a couple of times and when she put her fingers to the wound, some blood came away. Not much, but enough to make her feel worried. She nipped into the depot bathroom, relieved herself and checked her leg. It was not pretty, but she cleaned up the worst as best she could with toilet roll and tied her shirt around it tightly to try and stem the flow and keep it supported. Her jeans were baggy enough to fit over the makeshift bandage and only now only they and her hoodie, originally dark red but now black with dried blood and dirt, protected her from the elements. She still had her water bottle but nothing else, and her remaining money only came to a dollar. The guards at the entrance were giving her funny looks so she sat down in an alleyway just outside the depot to ponder her choices.

She was only two hours outside of Sacramento. They could easily find her: just get one of their accomplices to ask the depot people if someone of her description had bought a ticket. She needed to get to LA but she had no money, no clothes to speak of and no food, unless she did more rummaging in bins. As little as her beloved mother would have liked it, begging was her only option.

She was about to get up and find a busy place to sit and try and get some money off the shoppers (what day was it today? She'd lost track - it could be a Saturday, it could not be) when a man, probably in his forties turned into the alley.

She tried to slip past him but he grabbed her arm and pushed her back against the wall, leering at her. Her head smacked painfully against the brick and her vision narrowed as he thrust his hips up against hers.

"I don't think so, love. You might be off the clock but I'll still get my money's worth after you dumped me last night..."

Teresa wanted to protest that she had no idea what he was talking about, she wasn't a hooker and would he please leave her alone, but she knew it would be futile as his strong hands gripped her tightly, forcing her against the wall and not even bothering with the time it would take to kiss her before he was unzipping. So she shut down, thought of nothing as she was assaulted once more, her clothes forced off her and lying in the gutter. When he was done she collapsed on the ground, her back scraped and bleeding and teeth marks already visible on her collarbone and under her jaw.

The man gripped her jaw, holding her up at an awkward angle and kissing her roughly before throwing her back down to the ground and walking off. Teresa just lay there in her underwear, blood trickling down her back from both the scrapes and her head wound, which had fully reopened from the impact of her skull against the ground. Blood had soaked through the shirt on her leg, the red patch growing slowly bigger as she finally gathered enough strength to reach out for her clothes, now soaking wet whereas before they'd just been damp. But they were all she had, so she dragged the hoodie over her head and struggled to pull her jeans up, only to find he'd ripped the button right off. Having no other choice, she still pulled them up, hoping the zipper would hold them until she found enough money for a bus to LA, when she would be sitting and it wouldn't matter so much.

Using the wall to hoist herself up she hobbled to the alley entrance. The streets were quiet: either this was an empty part of town or all the businesspeople had gone back to work from their lunch breaks, so Teresa felt a strange mix of alone and self-conscious as she limped up the road, trying not to faint with every step. Someone in a suit walked past, shoes clacking on the pavement. Teresa tried to catch their attention but they ignored her and carried on, going into a law firm sitting between the houses not long after. The same thing happened with the next couple of people who came by, and eventually she collapsed, her leg just not able to hold her any more. Still she crawled, desperation and grit her only fuel, until she reached another little alleyway that was sheltered from the blinding heat of the sun. Her body refused to let her cry as she sank back just inside the entrance, the pain all over her body not letting her sleep. Pulling her knees up to her chest she rested her forehead on them and thought of her dear mama, almost hoping she'd see her again soon.

She must have fainted with hunger as she suddenly opened her eyes to a little face looking down at her, tiny but remarkably strong hands shaking her by her hoodie and a high-pitched voice yelling at her to wake up.

"You're awake! Mommy, she woke!"

"Who woke, darling?" an older voice sounded beyond Teresa's range of vision.

"The girl! Mommy! Come _on_!"

"Who...oh!" Another shape blocked her view, and a hand came to gingerly brush away the hair that had fallen across her face. Teresa flinched instinctively and the hand was immediately withdrawn.

"Sarah, go and see if there's a payphone nearby. Call 911 - we're in an alleyway off Henry and 8th."

The little girl scampered off and the mother bent closer.

"What's your name, honey?"

She shook her head, so dehydrated her throat felt like it was closing up, and promptly let out a strangled sound of pain as her head grated against the ground.

"Let me see?" Teresa forced her eyes fully open and looked properly at the woman. She was young, probably in her late twenties, and completely put-together. Not a hair out of place. "If you let me see I can tell the paramedics when they get here and they can get you to hospital quicker."

At the mention of hospital, Teresa started to panic. She'd spent way too much time in the sterile closeness of her mother's, and then her father's, hospital rooms, she didn't want to be the one in that bed with all the machines hooked up. She just wanted to get out of here. The woman must have seen something in her face as pity flashed across perfectly made-up blue eyes.

"At least tell me where it hurts?"

She couldn't even do that. Her eyes stung but no tears came: her body was holding on to water.

"Ambulance is coming, Mummy."

"Good girl, Sarah."

"Is she going to be ok?"

"She's going to be fine."

Teresa only wished she could believe her.


	2. Chapter 2

Teresa slipped in and out of consciousness for the ten minutes the ambulance took to get there. She didn't have the energy to do anything but latch on to Sarah's little voice as she babbled on about nothing in particular.

A siren split the air and made her whimper as it appeared to slice through her head; Sarah and her mother moved back as the paramedics jumped out of the van and came running towards her. A woman came into her line of sight, snapping on a pair of gloves as she knelt down.

"I'm Rachel, we're gonna get you fixed up right away, ok?"

"She has a head injury and she can barely talk," the mother supplied; Rachel gently lifted her head and Teresa flinched, but she just felt a little round the back, brushed her hair away from the blood on her forehead and nodded.

"Max! Get a gurney in here, and a head restraint. And some fluids, for the love of God. Does it hurt anywhere else?"

Teresa could only nod, she was so dehydrated.

"Just blink once for yes and twice for no, ok?"

She blinked once in reply.

"Good. Arms?" Two blinks. "Legs?" One. "This one?" Another blink. Rachel rolled up the sodden material to examine it; when she pulled out the shirt, now soaked through with blood, Teresa finally blacked out, and Sarah hid her face in her mother's hip.

***

She woke to incessant beeping, warm but slightly itchy blankets and a murmur of conversation from not far away. Her pathetic clothes were gone, her leg was elevated and everything hurt. Rolling her head in the direction of the voices and forcing her eyes open, she tried to speak, to ask where she was or how she got there but nothing came out. Despite the bag of fluids hanging on a rail just inside her peripheral vision her throat felt like sandpaper.

"Hi." A blonde woman in a blue uniform who seemed familiar came over with a glass of water, then did something beside her bed to make it lift her into a sitting position. She winced as her torn back slid down the mattress slightly. "Have a drink, it'll help your throat."

The woman helped her hold the glass, and miraculously none of it went down her front despite her shaking hands.

Teresa coughed, then tried to speak. "Thanks." It came out as a bit of a croak but it didn't hurt too much. "I know you."

"I'm Rachel. I'm a paramedic: my partner and I answered the call and brought you here."

She suddenly remembered another pair of faces that had been swimming behind her eyes while she'd been unconscious.

"Where's Sarah?"

"Sarah and her mother left a few hours ago. They had to get back to LA." A man in a white coat stepped forward.

"Oh." The disappointment was palpable. Teresa laid her head back down on the pillow, resignation settling in. She'd thought they'd actually cared about what happened to her, but now that seemed too much like wishful thinking.

"Hey, if it's any consolation, Sarah threw a massive tantrum when her mother wouldn't let her see you. She said she wanted to give you this," Rachel handed her a child's necklace with a flower pendant, "and say goodbye." Teresa touched the necklace, but didn't take it; Rachel placed it on a wooden table by the chair in the corner then came back to her bedside.

"How are you feeling?"

"I don't know." She didn't want to say she was hurting: they were probably pumping her full of painkillers and she didn't want any more than necessary. Her mother hadn't taken her full doses; while she wouldn't be so stubborn (she didn't think she had the energy to be, even if she wanted to), she wouldn't take any more than that if they weren't working. She'd rather they change the meds if they didn't do their job but she didn't think her input would be taken seriously. It wasn't like they knew she'd spent the majority of her childhood listening to doctors discuss her mother's condition.

"It's good to see you awake," Rachel smiled as the doctor came forward.

"We need to change your bandages and check your other cuts," he told her, starting to pull up the covers to reveal her legs and shoulders. Her vision tunnelled at the invasion and her limbs swiped out automatically, her mind just thinking to get him off her. Then suddenly, the covers were back over her and a pair of hands grabbed her own, forcing her to look at their owner. Rachel was looking at her with a concerned expression, not a hint of pity or judgement.

"Hey, look at me. Deep breath in...and out. Good. Keep breathing. It's ok. You're gonna be ok." Teresa followed her instructions, and the steady flow of air in and out of her lungs calmed her down. Her eyes focussed again and her head stopped swimming, muscles not quite fully relaxing but mostly.

"That's good. Just keep breathing." The paramedic's hold on her loosened, but Teresa found she didn't want her to let go. Grabbing her hands again she held them tight, trying to plead with her eyes to stay. Rachel seemed to get the message as she smiled and sat down on the bed.

"I'll talk to her for a bit, Doc." The man, who hadn't yet introduced himself, seemed bewildered, but nodded and backed out of the room.

"Who was that?"

"Dr. Hughes. He's one of the doctors assigned to your care. The other's a woman, Dr. Ashe. They've a lot of experience with people in your situation."

"What's 'my situation'?"

Rachel seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "Victims of gang violence and...sexual assault." She paused and took a breath. "What's your name?"

"Why?" Teresa asked cautiously.

"It's always easier to treat someone when we know their medical history."

"I thought you were a paramedic."

"I am but I did work experience in the ER while I was training. Knowing someone's mother had a condition or that they're allergic to nuts is more helpful than you'd think in an environment where doctors race against the clock to save someone's life. Plus, I've always thought Jane Doe is a bit impersonal."

"Yeah." Teresa glanced down at the tag on her wrist, where the words _Doe, Jane_ were printed in black letters. Still, she didn't tell the woman her name. It would make it too easy to find her. She had no doubt that they could just put her age and description into some computer and it could tell them who she was, but she was in full defensive mode despite her injuries and she would do everything she could to protect herself.

"Look. The police will be here soon to ask you what happened. Even if you don't tell me your name, you'll have to tell them - not telling them something is as bad as lying." Her voice wasn't annoyed, judgemental, persuasive; just stating plain and simple truth. Teresa was going to have to tell somebody who she was eventually. Her only option was which section of the emergency services she told.

"Teresa. Ortiz," she murmured unwillingly. "That's my name."

"Ok, Teresa. You're not from San Francisco, are you?"

"No. You're not going to tell anyone any of this?"

"I'm not bound by doctor-patient privilege but if you don't want me to, if you'd rather tell them yourself, then I won't say anything. I promise."

Tears stung Teresa eyes. She'd hadn't heard those two words as anything other than a threat in years. She'd said them as a promise, last year, but she'd barely been able to believe in promises any more. It was still hard, but somehow she believed the paramedic.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Hey. You don't have to tell me anything but I will give you one piece of advice. Talking it over once usually makes the second time easier."

Teresa nodded. She was scared. She would barely admit that to herself, but she was terrified of judgement. Years of enduring it should have hardened her up, and it had to an extent, but it had also only made her crave a compliment, an unadulterated, non-judgemental positive word, more.

"I can see you're terrified." _Damn it_. This woman was good. Was it training or just an amazing ability to read people? Both?

"But you don't have to be. You'll be safe here."

"Safer than in prison?"

"Well...yes. There aren't any cons in here, and if there ever are they're watched day and night by security guards. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. Doesn't matter."

"If you're scared, then it does. Very much."

"To whom?" She was genuinely curious. She wasn't used to people caring about her safety.

"Me, for one. I didn't bring you here for the doctors to have to treat wounds from a fight inside the hospital. The doctors and nurses all care about the patients here: if one of them's away and something goes wrong, another equally skilled one will step in. And there are security guards who patrol the area around the hospital at night, just in case." Rachel smiled reassuringly. "Does that make you feel any better?"

"A bit."

A nurse knocked on the door and popped her head round to indicate to Rachel that visiting hours were over.

"I've got to go, they're going to kick me out whatever. I'm working tomorrow but I might come in and see you if I bring anyone else in, ok?"

Teresa nodded. She didn't expect the paramedic to come in and see her even if she was in.

"If the police turn up, don't be nervous. Just tell them the truth and you'll be fine, I promise." The nurse cleared her throat. "Ok, I've really got to go. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

True to her word, Rachel popped in once the next day, slipping through the door as if in fear of being found. It set Teresa on edge until Rachel smiled, took her outstretched hand and half-laughed.

"It's not visiting hours, they'll boot me out if they find me. My partner's just giving a statement then I've gotta go but I came to see how you're holding up."

"I'm...ok."

"Leg ok? Head not too bad?"

"They keep asking if they can change my bandages..."

"They need to, to monitor the wound. Head wounds can be very serious, you're lucky yours wasn't too bad in the scheme of things." Rachel paused, her head tilting to the side a little like a bird considering something. "What are you afraid they'll find under the bandages?"

"Doesn't matter." Her default response to probing questions back when she was in her early teens had made a reappearance, along with the feelings of helplessness.

"Head wounds, whatever's hidden under your hair, do matter, Teresa, and if you do keep resisting treatment it..."

"Ok." She didn't even let Rachel finish. 'Resisting treatment' had been what her mother had done and look where that had gotten her; Teresa wasn't about to make the same mistake though she hadn't realised that that was what she was doing. She was used to pain so she could handle it, but she still wanted it to stop. "I'll let them be changed."

"Ok." The paramedic smiled, confusion evident though she didn't pry. Even if she had, there wouldn't have been time to answer as a brisk knock came at the door.

"Damn," Rachel swore under her breath as the door opened, leaving her no time to escape or hide.

"I'm sorry, Miss...?"

"Smith. Paramedic. Sorry, I was just checking up on a...friend... Oh, hi Max!" She waved out the door at a male in the exact same uniform, someone Teresa vaguely recognised. "Just coming. I'll see you later, Teresa."

Despite her hatred of hospitals and the pain all over she couldn't help but smile at the woman's attempt to bluff her way out of a situation, and the sheepish smile she directed at the doctor and her companions as she slipped out the half-open door. It faded quickly though as two men walked in the room behind Dr. Ashe, the female doctor assigned to her whom she'd met properly that morning.

"Teresa, here are Detectives Jones and Brown from San Francisco PD." The two men flashed police badges; the sight sent a chill to her heart. "They're here to ask you a few questions. I'll be right outside if you need anything."

"Good morning, Miss Ortiz. How are you feeling?" one asked as they put away their ID and got out notebooks.

Teresa merely shrugged, still feeling heavy and tired, not to mention afraid of what they would manage to get out of her. Rachel had managed to get her to reveal a good few things and she wasn't the one who was paid to find out this kind of information.

"We've got to ask you a few questions about what happened. We know from Rachel that you were, err...left for dead in an alleyway?"

She nodded, still not making eye contact with them. How much had Rachel told them?

"Who left you there?"

She shook her head.

"A stranger? Relative? Friend?"

"Some friend they are, to leave a young girl dying," the taller agent commented wryly under his breath, though both of them heard it.

"No one."

"Teresa, you do know that to withhold evidence is a crime in itself?" The shorter one had clearly picked up on her hesitation, though it was true. No one had left her for dead: she'd collapsed.

She hadn't, but she nodded anyway, head still down and face hidden by the curtain of hair.

"Come on, Jimmy. The poor girl's probably too traumatised by the ordeal to talk about it yet."

"I know, Sam, but she might have important clues as to the whereabouts of these bastards."

She wasn't sure whether or not to be reassured by 'might'. The taller, apparently more sympathetic one (she noticed the name scrawled into the cover of the new notepad: Sam Jones) sat down on the bed next to her, but kept a respectful distance. She was grateful for that small gesture: it was hard enough just having them in here.

"Teresa, the doctors did a procedure on you while you were in the OR, standard for all sexual assault victims. They found...how do I say this?...evidence...of more than one person assaulting you in the twenty-four hours before you were found. What can you tell us about that?" the one still standing, who must be Brown by process of elimination, asked.

"How...how many did they find?" Her head was down, hair still just about free enough to fall between her face and the detectives', providing some protection from their gazes and stopping them seeing her fierce, mortified blush.

"Three, possibly four. Two were so similar they couldn't be sure." So doctor-patient confidentiality didn't extend to the medical records. Her mother had had the same doctor for nine years so that hadn't even been an issue in Teresa's mind.

"Two were brothers," she found herself telling them before she knew what she was doing. The detectives glanced at each other and Brown scribbled something down.

"Anything else?"

"One thought I was a hooker." It was a struggle to hold back the tears now. The men had no idea that their very presence, the mere fact that she was alone with two men much older and stronger than her, was causing her to pray fervently to a deity she didn't believe in that they wouldn't get too close.

"We know you were born in Sacramento, CA." She nodded once, trying not to scrunch the blankets in her fists.

"When did you get to San Francisco? How long have you lived here? There isn't an address for you since 23rd April 1992."

Teresa winced. The previous year's date was burned into her memory, as was another from three weeks before. The dates of her parents' deaths. She was tempted not to answer, but remembering Rachel's words of advice calmed her down, the heart monitor slowing slightly with her pulse.

"Yesterday. Day before? I don't know what date it is... I got the bus from Sacramento. Didn't have enough to get to LA."

"Where were you living since your father died?"

She swallowed, throat dry; whether from nerves or dehydration she didn't know. "Nowhere in particular."

Her keen ears picked up on Brown's brief whisper into his partner's ear, "Streets."

"Shouldn't whisper," she recalled one of her mother's favourite scoldings with a dead voice, and immediately wished she hadn't as she was suddenly overcome with the need to be told off again in that beautiful voice, just so she could hear it one more time. Glancing at the detectives for fear of being called cheeky and told to 'know her place', she was taken aback by the expressions of bemusement on their faces. Brown apologised, though it did feel like they were talking to her as one would a precocious child, then their faces grew serious.

"Teresa, would you mind if we took some photos of your wounds, just so we have a visual record of them? We suspect your injuries might have something to do with gang activity, and if it happened in Sacramento then we, or another police department, need to be able to recall your face in interrogation."

"Can I call the doctor in?" she asked quietly, the heart monitor giving her away. She'd hated photos for as long as she could remember.

"Sure," Jones consented and Brown opened the door and stuck his head out, then pushed a button on the pager by the door. Dr. Ashe came in at speed, slowing when she realised it wasn't a medical issue. At Teresa's refusal to make eye contact the detectives explained what they'd like to do.

"If Teresa doesn't mind or you have a warrant, and you think it might help in catching them, then there's photos in the medical file," she heard in the whispered conversation.

"Do you mind if we take copies of those photos, Teresa?" Brown asked her. She still had her head down, finally giving in to the urge to twist the covers in her hands, but shrugged her shoulders in response. Now she couldn't even trust the doctors taking care of her.

"Ok. How about you think on it, and we'll come back tomorrow?"

She mumbled something, but they clearly didn't hear as they turned to Dr. Ashe, who nodded and showed them out.

"You can change my bandages if you want," Teresa offered when she came back in, still quiet, head still down. Looking up through her lashes she saw the doctor smile and nod, leaving and coming back in a few minutes with rolls of bandages and some bottles of stuff. It stung, and her hands against her head were firm almost to the point of asking her to loosen her hold a bit, but at least it wasn't bleeding too badly any more, just a little infected but "it's nothing this stuff can't handle".

When Dr. Ashe had gone Teresa fell into a fitful sleep, emotionally exhausted from the detectives' questions and still physically recovering her strength. She dreamt of swaying bulbs lighting otherwise pitch-black rooms, rope ties, invasive pain from years ago.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter left over from my changing of the format, which will still switch between POVs when I feel it's appropriate but will now mainly be Teresa's, whereas before I had entire chapters of other, sometimes fairly minor characters' POV, like Boomtown's format. This is basically the bare facts of Teresa's life as seen by someone who doesn't know her: through flashbacks and conversations throughout the rest of the story I aim to fill in the gaps, flesh it out a bit. Also there's got to be a case on Teresa's victimisation, so having police detectives discuss it at length was my way of reminding myself that there is an ongoing case, and it will be important further down the line. These characters will reappear but I'm not 100% sure when in terms of chapter.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is appreciated :)

"Poor girl," Brown commented quietly as soon as the door of the hospital room was shut.

"She wasn't very helpful but I suppose she has a reason. Well, we have the paramedic's statement and those photos, the medical records, two of her rapists were brothers, one of them was probably here while the others were in South Sac." Jimmy wrote everything she'd said down in his notebook. "That should get us started."

Back at the precinct they found the file and put everything in, but were interrupted by their captain. Jimmy straightened up on his perch on the desk behind Sam's where he'd been leaning over his shoulder to get a better look at the file.

"What did you get, boys?"

"Not much, sir, she's clearly too traumatised to talk about it. But her name is Teresa Ortiz, she's 18, DOB 26 April 1974. No siblings, no parents: mother died of cancer about a year ago, father died of a broken heart about a month later. Both only children, no uncles, aunts or grandparents. She turned 18 a few days after her father died." Sam shot his partner a wink. They'd used their badges and smiles to win over the naive young intern nurse, who'd very happily put in a call to Sacramento for Teresa's medical records and family history though they'd really needed a warrant. The nurse on the other end had faxed them over immediately when Sam had told her his badge number for verification.

"Is that it?"

They were about to respond by showing him the pictures of her injuries and what the girl had actually told them, but their leader put the phone down as if on cue and stood up from her desk, notebook in hand.

"No, Captain," Detective Christine Hudson spoke up in a voice that demanded attention, befitting her status as the leader of the team. "While the boys were out I did some digging. She was a model pupil as a child, but seemed to struggle from about the age of twelve onwards. Her school report at 14 shows a large decrease in grades from an A to a C, which she never recovered, despite, and I quote, "multiple attempts to improve her attitude"."

"That was about the time her mother's cancer mutated terminally," Sam noted. Christine threw him a look and continued.

"She never graduated high school - there aren't any reports after the age of sixteen and her overall grade was an E. She went off the grid after her parents' death and the family home was left empty. There's a new family living there now, of no relation to Teresa's. All the Ortiz's belongings were given to charity or thrown away."

"Bank statements?"

"No bank account. Her parents weren't doing too well at the time they died: whatever was left was taken by the banks they owed for the loans they took out. Medical care for the mother's cancer."

"Nice work, Hudson. Jones, Brown." The captain headed back upstairs, leaving Sam and Jimmy confused.

"Why is the Captain so interested in this case?"

"He has a daughter about Teresa's age. I guess the gang rape hit home."

"So. Why would she struggle after the age of twelve, when her mother's cancer mutated when she was fourteen?" Jimmy pondered.

"Maybe she was being bullied?" Sam offered.

"Reached her academic peak?"

"That's a bit harsh, Jimmy."

"She kept to herself, never spoke to the teachers about anything, I've already spoken to a couple of them plus the headmistress. Her mother was diagnosed when she was eight but the teachers didn't know until it came through as an amendment to her medical history a few months later. They said she seemed ok though, she had friends and was doing well until she was twelve."

"She has a gang tattoo on her neck. Maybe that's when she joined." Sam handed her the file with the photos paperclipped inside. "It technically isn't a wound, but there's a scar running right the way across the ink. The doctors must have thought it was important, given the location."

"Good for them and lucky for us. Teresa probably won't let anyone near enough to take more photos." Christine studied the Polaroid for a minute. "That's definitely a South Sac gang. And it looks like it's been there a while."

"Did she join of her own accord? Or was she pressed into it?" Sam was relieved to see Jimmy didn't seem to be completely prejudiced against her, as he'd feared at the hospital. Christine continued with a very logical point.

"No twelve-year-old with her Catholic upbringing would ever choose to join a gang as vicious as this one, especially if she's an only child with a sick mother. I think she was forced."

"We couldn't get any of that sort of information out of her, Christine."

"She was gang-raped and collapsed in an alley over seventy miles from home, of course you couldn't. We'll go back when she's feeling better, or if they call for us. We'll put this on the back burner until that happens - there's not much else we can do until she opens up."

"Close the case?"

"No. It's still open, but if we get other cases that can be solved quickly we'll put those first until we've got more. The guys in the lab are working on getting a match off the DNA from the rape kit but that'll take a while, especially as there's four samples to test."

"We said we'd go back tomorrow and ask her if she was ok with us taking the photos..." Sam started, trailing off when he'd realised his blunder.

"You took them without permission from the vic?"

"The doctors took the photos!" Jimmy defended. "We got her medical records from one of the nurses, we just..."

"Forgot that you didn't have permission from the girl to own photos of her."

"Well, when you put it like that..." The men were cowering under her stone glare and suddenly an outdoor lunch break looked very attractive.

"If that had been your sister, or your girlfriend... Which nurse gave you them? Wait - let me guess. You charmed the intern."

They didn't have to answer.

"This is a young girl we're dealing with here. Not a case number you can use your badges to get photos for! I'd say apologise but we want her to be able to trust us and tell us what she knows instead of clam up from betrayal of trust!" Christine took a breath and calmed her voice down.

"You're grown men. Detectives. Not beat cops just out of the Academy, not teenage boys. Grow up. Go take a lunch break. Back here prompt in half an hour." She sat down heavily at her desk, bending her head over the case file. Sam and Jimmy glanced at each other and leapt for their jackets and wallets simultaneously, slipping off to the elevator before she could change her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: upsetting flashback right from the off. And another one nearer the end. Death, assault, one or two mentions of missing unnamed persons? Not sure if that's a trigger but I'll put it anyway. I'd rather be safe than sorry. Only a couple more chapters of hospital stuff then I hope it'll get a bit lighter! Obviously the flashbacks and mental health issues will stay but I'm trying to create some happier characters for Teresa to interact and build relationships with other than criminals and doctors, and give her stuff to do so she can heal a bit. So bear with me. This is very new territory for me!

_"Ortiz!" came the harsh shout from the back. It was dark early, the middle of winter, and her father was staying at the hospital with her mother. She'd gone in for a checkup and been asked to stay the night so they could run some more tests._ _She had no idea if they'd even thought of the fact that she didn't have a house key of her own; as such,_ _Teresa sat, shivering, squashed between two older girls who were helping her hold a torn, dirty napkin to the bleeding on her neck, holding her hurt arm crossed over her chest to try and stop that cut bleeding too badly either. She froze when she heard her name, but the other huddled members didn't alter their positions. This was normal, the leaders' way of ensuring submission and obedience. It just happened to be her first time being called to the back room, having only ever heard whispers of it before._

_"Go." One of the older girls nudged her shoulder. "It'll be worse the longer you take."_

_Reluctantly, and with no idea what to expect, Teresa stood with shaking legs, well aware of the biology homework due tomorrow, forgotten in that morning's rush, still sitting on her desk behind the locked doors of her parents' house as she approached the wooden door between the rooms of the hut. Unsure of what to do, she knocked, the sound somewhere between smart and timid. Rough hands dragged her inside and the door shut, leaving the room in almost darkness aside from the one ceiling bulb that cast a shadowy glow over the three hulking leaders. Her heart skipped a beat, palpable fear making her throat tighten and her mouth go dry as she saw their stances: fists curled, shoulders hunched in preparation to attack, heads down like charging bulls. The one with an arm round her waist from behind had a death grip: she was sure there'd be one long bruise over her stomach tomorrow morning._

_"Hands in front of you." The older girl's words fresh in her mind, she did as they asked immediately, even when he dragged her back up against the wall, pulling her tightly to him. As innocent as a fourteen-year-old could possibly be Teresa had no idea what was about to happen, and when it did, she couldn't help a whimper of pain and knee-jerk reaction away from the bodies invading her space._

Teresa woke with a start, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimmed lighting to see her surroundings. Dr. Hughes was bending over her way too close; her immediate reaction was to run but her arms were held down by something, she couldn't quite see. All she knew was she couldn't run, couldn't hide as the doctor checked her vitals and tried to calm her down.

"Teresa!"

She latched on to the familiar voice, the already familiar hand covering hers and searched for the green eyes, and when she found them, and heard the gentle voice, she let out a sob of...what, she wasn't quite sure. Residual fear, some relief and probably confusion as well. She had no idea. Eventually she stopped writhing against her restraints and collapsed into the pillows, breathing hard, pulse still high and tears rolling down into her hair.

"That's it. Relax a bit, good. Now, breathe. In...out...in...out..."

She followed Rachel's advice, and after a bit her breathing slowed to just above normal. The restraints were removed and Dr. Hughes wrote something on the chart hanging by her bed before running his hand through his hair and scurrying out of the room.

"Why are you here?"

"I was bringing someone in and thought I'd check up on you."

"When's the end of your shift?" she asked, breath still laboured but she needed to know.

"Tomorrow morning. It's eight at night, Teresa. They tell me you slept all afternoon."

"The police came."

"Hey, hey. Calm down before you tell me anything. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth." Once her breathing had returned to a more normal pace Rachel asked,

"How did it go?" in response to the information that the police had stopped by.

"They want the photos of my injuries."

"For evidence."

Teresa shook her head, more of an 'I don't know' than a 'no'.

"They'll want them so if the case gets passed along or jurisdiction changes whoever takes it can see exactly what the damage was. It's not something creepy."

"Are you sure?" Her heart was still hammering a little too hard against her chest for comfort.

"I promise. Look, I've got to go. Just keep breathing, ok? I'll be in to see you for longer as soon as I can. If you do nothing else, focus on the breathing. And, Teresa," she leaned in and whispered, "we'll talk about the nightmares then."

Teresa nodded; Rachel squeezed her hand reassuringly and slipped out. Dr. Hughes, standing in the corner, came over and checked her monitors again.

"Are you having nightmares?" he asked straight out. "Flashbacks to when you were left in the alley?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You might need some professional help if they continue..."

"I'm fine."

"Ok." The doctor, having finished recording everything, ran a hand through his hair, a habit she now recognised as something he did when he was nervous or had no idea how to handle a situation. "Do you want something to eat? You slept through dinner."

"No. I'm not hungry." The dream had reawakened the horrible, sick feeling she remembered so vividly from that night, and every other night that happened, when they'd finished with her and practically thrown her back into the room with the others. She'd managed not to throw up purely because she'd eaten so little at school with the worry for her mother, but she'd cried all night in the arms of the two older girls she'd somehow befriended in the last two years. One of them went missing the week after and no one had ever heard from her again.

That night, Teresa lay awake, remembering the people she'd loved and lost. There weren't that many: they had lived fairly private lives, and she had always been a loner. Her parents. Her best friend Elsie who had helped her in very way through the first years of her mother's illness but from whom she grew apart when they became teenagers. Apart from that, it was only the two girls from the gang, in the same situation as her, whom she wished she could see again. The oldest, nineteen when she went missing, had been tougher round the edges than Lucy, who was only a year older than Teresa and still in the gang's clutches, but they both defended her well when they could. She always wished she could have repaid the favour.

Det. Brown came back the next day around lunchtime with a woman who introduced herself as Det. Hudson. Her sleepless night had left her tired but she'd also thought a lot and come to a conclusion. She was still petrified of being found, but it couldn't do any harm to let the police have those photos, could it? Even if she hadn't been aware that they'd been taken in the first place. What the gang members had forced her into truly was horrible, she was finally allowing herself to admit that, and maybe she hadn't deserved all of what happened to her, despite what they'd said every time they called her into the back room, despite what the man in the alley had said.

"You can have those photos if you want," she said as soon as she saw who it was. The female detective then introduced herself, and out came the notebooks. Dr. Ashe stayed standing by the head of the bed, lunch tray ready on the table in the corner for when the police left.

"How are you feeling?" Hudson asked. When she just shrugged, the detective continued. "Teresa, can you tell us anything else about the men who assaulted you? You said yesterday that two of them were brothers, and we deduced that one was here and the other three were before you left Sacramento. Were any of them affiliated with any gangs that you know of?"

Her hand twitched, and she resisted the urge to rub the back of her neck as her chest constricted in panic. She didn't want to talk about the men. They'd told her they'd come about the pictures and nothing else. She'd said they could have them: they should be going round about now.

The heart monitor picked up, her vision narrowed slightly and her head span. The doctor glanced at the screen and Teresa vaguely registered the others being ushered from the room and her bed being lowered before the white ceiling came back into focus.

"Teresa? Are you all right?" A light shone briefly into each eye, causing coloured spots to appear behind each eye whenever she blinked. Memories of a random eye check in a happier time came briefly back to her.

"I'm fine," she managed.

"Was it lack of food? You do need to eat more than you are at the moment."

She shrugged. She wasn't hungry much at all and the hospital food looked so unappetising she frankly didn't want to try it.

"Teresa. We're not giving you very much, _because_ you're so thin and malnourished. I'm going to stay here until you've eaten this, all right?"

Surprised at the sudden patronising tone, Teresa obliged quickly for fear of repercussion. She just about managed to finish the meal, but it was a struggle.

The afternoon was spent looking forward to Rachel's visit, and when she did come she wasn't disappointed. She'd brought a pack of playing cards with the intention of teaching Teresa some simple games for one and two players, and Teresa had honestly smiled when she'd taken them out of her pocket.

She picked the games up quickly and was soon, if not beating Rachel, then losing by a lot less. When it started to get heated Rachel paused, then her expression changed to one more serious.

"Teresa, about the nightmares..."

"It wasn't a nightmare."

"Are you sure? You were writhing and murmuring in your sleep, the heart monitor was going crazy. It looked like a nightmare, or a painful flashback, to me."

She looked down at her lap. How the paramedic managed to link all this back to the truth with her saying absolutely nothing, she'd never know.

"It was a flashback, wasn't it?" She sighed and nodded on Teresa's single nod. "What was it about?"

Teresa's head snapped up to meet her eyes, utterly confused.

"Talking about it often helps. Shares the burden, lightens the load a little knowing you're not bottling it up any more. Trust me."

"How do you know all this?"

"Training. We deal with a lot of people who have lost loved ones - as such we need to be trained to help them. It gets easier with experience, but no less painful, I've found. I've always been a good listener anyway, but someone has to want to talk first. Teresa."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just...no one wanted to listen before."

"I can imagine. But I'm here now. Better late than never, right?"

Teresa took a deep breath and started to talk. It wasn't the memories that had plagued her the day before, but an earlier one, though none the less vivid.

"My mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was eight. It was operable, not terminal at first. We had hope. Immediately after the appointment she went to Mass and prayed for strength from the Virgin Mary, and every day after that she prayed. Her rosary never left her fingers. It obviously served her well."

"But you didn't believe it."

"Not really. I mean, I went to church because I had to, and I did kind of believe it, in that child's way of being unable to fathom something bigger than the whole world. But then she got sicker and sicker, and I stopped believing in the Virgin's grace at all. Dad didn't take that too well. He didn't take anything too well after Mama was diagnosed. I still remember that day so clearly."

"What happened?"

"It was an afternoon appointment. I had a half day off because the teacher had suddenly fallen ill and a substitute couldn't get there until the next day so I was happy over lunch. I had no idea why Mama had to go to the hospital, and was resenting having to spend my afternoon sitting in a stuffy waiting room. They didn't tell me until we got home that evening. My dad's face was scary on the drive back. I thought I'd done something wrong. He stayed up late that night, praying, and was grumpy when he had to take me to school the next day. The thing is, he'd always been a good dad. Smiling, cheerful, honest, kind, never let anyone hurt me or Mama..."

She'd managed to say all this with a fairly even voice, but when she remembered the look on her father's face when her mother had sat her down in the comfy armchair, snuggled up together, and told her that she had some sort of cancer (the type and place hadn't been explained at the time as she'd been so young), her throat closed up a little. She swallowed in an attempt to loosen the lump but it was a few minutes before she could speak again, and when she did it was to apologise for the silence.

"Sorry."

"Why are you sorry? This is triggering emotions, but not sending you into a panic attack. It's good."

"You're not bored of my horrible life?"

"No. Everyone has a story to share; yours, so far, just happens to be laced with tragedy. It's nothing to be ashamed of. And it doesn't mean it won't get better."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, but the only person who can do that is you. You have to put effort in. It's not something that just _happens_ , like it seems to happen to some people. My oldest cousin, for example. I always resented her a bit because she seemed to get everything she wanted handed to her on a silver platter. Only later did I realise that while she was naturally good at violin, she worked her butt off to be great to eventually audition for, and get into, one of the top orchestras. She's in London, England right now with the London Symphony Orchestra, and she wouldn't have gotten there if she hadn't busked, raised funds and put on concerts to raise money for her lessons, her graded exams, better instruments and finally the plane ticket to get to the audition. Eight year old me just saw a musician who was never around because she was always at auditions or lessons or concerts, or she spent all her time practising.".

"But your cousin had a talent to start with."

"Stop with this self-deprecating talk! I know it's hard but it's not healthy to keep thinking such bad things about yourself."

"It's not like any of it's false."

"Hey! I know for a fact you're good at one thing, and that's cards. The reason you're not losing so badly is because you're reading my reactions to what I've got in my hand. Your cards haven't always been amazing to start with: I know that because you haven't quite got your poker face down. It shows you're a good people reader. That's valuable for lots of paths in life so don't give up on yourself. You've made it this far."

Later, after they'd exchanged some more stories and Teresa had won her first game of rummy, Rachel was once again kicked out by the nurse for staying too late and she lay down to sleep. The talk with Rachel must have helped, for she only woke once and she dreamt of the first eight years of her life, the good years. And there wasn't any bittersweetness in the dream, just happy memories. She woke feeling more refreshed than she had in a long time.

She fell into a routine over the next few weeks. Wake up, eat, play some cards (Rachel had left the pack with her) or build structures with them on the table that wheeled over her bed for her trays, eat lunch. Bandages were changed regularly, and slowly she learned to endure Dr. Hughes doing them. Her meals were the same size until she was willingly eating it all three times a day. It took a couple of weeks to finish dessert, but when she did the doctor finally said she was starting to mend.

"If you're eating well and you're strong, you can fight off that infection in your leg and your cuts will heal quicker," he told her. But while she felt stronger physically, she still felt emotionally numb. To her, hospital visits were synonymous with death. Her mother was always in and out of hospital; she'd spent the final few weeks sleeping at her bedside and had been there when they called the time of death. Her father died at the same hospital, succumbing only a month or so after his wife. Now their daughter was lying, bandaged and broken in more ways than one, with infections and painful memories that haunted her dreams at night, even after extensive talks with Rachel about them.

She started physical therapy a couple of weeks after being admitted as the infection in her leg had gone, even if the cut was still healing. Rachel walked in one day to see her struggling from the bed to the table, leg wobbling a bit beneath her.

"Oh, hi Rachel!" she gasped, exhausted after a long day of walking around after two weeks of lying still.

"Teresa! Started therapy already?" Rachel supported her elbow with a hand and helped her limp back over to the bed. "I'm impressed."

"It's exhausting."

"Maybe now your brain will have something else to occupy it and the nightmares will lessen," she suggested hopefully, not missing the flicker of a smile on Teresa's face at the prospect as she lifted her legs back into bed, clutching the gown around them so it didn't slip above her calves.

"Maybe. ... I had another one last night." Rachel immediately sat on the bed, concern in every feature. "About the day my mother died."

***

 _"_ Chica _, promise me something." Her mother clasped her hands, struggling to stay sitting up against the pillows. "Promise me you will take every opportunity you get to do something great. Don't hesitate, believe in yourself. You are beautiful, my angel._ Te amo _." Her thin hand reached up to stroke her cheek, barely touching it before falling back to the bed, exhausted. Teresa took the frail hand between hers and kissed it, suppressing a shiver at its cool temperature._

_"Promise me, Teresa."_

_"I promise, Mama." The tears choked her but she wouldn't cry. She'd been strong in front of her mother for nine years now and the woman would never know the pain her daughter had felt. She was determined about that, had been for years, for she would worry about her and it would bring on the end faster._ _She hadn't wanted that on her conscience so she'd kept quiet._

_Teresa knew it would be soon: so did her mama and the doctors but her father wouldn't believe it. He sat in the chair on the other side of the bed, Teresa left to crouch uncomfortably, the fresh wound on her leg sore where her jeans rubbed against it. He clutched his rosary between his and his wife's hand, a hopeful smile on his face as he murmured prayers, never taking his eyes off her. Her gaze shifted slowly round to face her husband, and Teresa saw the words 'I love you' form on her lips before her eyes closed, her last exhale almost silent, but loud and clear to Teresa's acute hearing._

_"Time of death, 9:08, 24th March 1992." The words were strange. Her mother looked like she was sleeping, her face serene, the pain gone. For a moment Teresa was six again, waking from a nightmare and sneaking into her parents' room, only to stop and stare because her mama looked so beautiful lying there asleep she was loathe to wake her. Then a sob and a disbelieving "No!" came from the other side of the bed, in a voice she knew belonged to her father but didn't sound at all like him._

_"Maria, open your eyes. Look at me. I won't give up on you. You will survive this, Maria...Maria..." He dissolved into tears, pitiful sobs that only made Teresa resent him more, a considerable feat considering the nine years_ _he'd_ _left her alone to look after her sick mother, working all hours just to pay the bills and caring not for his daughter, not noticing that she was growing up, having trouble at school._

***

Tears formed in Teresa's eyes as she recalled the day once more, Rachel's hand covering hers, the paramedic saying nothing.

"We got home and he had a cardiac arrest the following day. He survived that but never recovered from his broken heart. Apparently that's an actual condition. Spent three weeks in hospital before dying three days before my eighteenth birthday." Bitterness rose in her throat once again. "When I turned eight he told me he had big plans for ten years' time, but not to wish it away too quickly because he wanted to watch me grow up, wanted me to _enjoy_ growing up. Then he said 'and I need that amount of time to plan it', which was a joke, funny at the time because it seemed so far off. Next thing I knew I was eighteen years old and as far as I could tell he just couldn't be bothered to hang on for those few days more."

"Where did you go when your father died?"

"I didn't go to my parents' house. They were both dead, what was the point? Too many painful memories. I went to the streets. I knew how to fight, even if every other street thug has at least half a foot and twenty pounds on me."

Rachel's eyebrow twitched minutely at the last sentence but she moved the conversation on.

"And it took you a year to run away to San Francisco?"

"Took me that long to get away from the gang." It took a moment before she realised her slipup; when she did, she slumped back against her pillows and turned her face away, mortified and terrified that she'd ruined whatever good thing she had going with Rachel at the moment. " _I'm such an idiot._ "

"Teresa, Teresa look at me. You are not an idiot. You're opening up and that's good. I know for a fact that your having previously been in a gang doesn't lower my opinion of you in the slightest."

"Really." Teresa, currently curled in on herself with not a care for the healing bruises on her torso, didn't believe a word of it.

"Really. And I'm not sure if this'll help, but I already knew."

"You _knew?_ " That made her turn over.

"Yes. I should have told you before but when I examined your head wounds in the ambulance I noticed the tattoo, but I didn't mention it to the doctors. It wasn't a medical piece of information, though that scar across it is slightly worrying. So I didn't think it worth mentioning. They probably found it anyway, but I promise you I kept it to myself. Do you trust me?"

It took a couple of moments of consideration for the untrusting girl to nod.

"I was twelve. Pressurised into it at knifepoint. The scar is from when a rock hit it during a fight. Skimmed it, not full-on whacked it. It still bled a fair bit but I was good at patching myself up by then."

"Are they why you're scared of telling the police your name and where you're from? You're worried they'll find you here?"

She nodded, ashamed. It seemed so stupid when said by somebody else.

"If they do, it'll be on stroke of luck alone."

"You don't understand. One girl went missing when I was fourteen a few nights after...something bad happened and she comforted me. She was never heard from again. They can dispose of people without leaving a trace, Rachel!"

"Hey, calm down. You're safe here."

They talked some more about the gang, Teresa initially uncomfortable with it but as Rachel asked and sympathised, she grew more confident. It felt good to finally get these things off her chest, be able to, almost, practice with someone she trusted for the inevitable day when the wind would pull her hair completely off her neck and she'd have to explain to someone or other.

She fell asleep soon after Rachel left, having forced herself to stay awake so as not to miss any of the precious time spent with her, exhausted after the physically and emotionally draining day.

As the weeks passed Teresa grew stronger and able to eat more, but the days were still boring. Rachel brought books, taught her more complicated card games and even brought in a cassette player sometimes, though she couldn't leave it with her. Their conversations drifted to all sorts of topics: Teresa wanted to hear about a life different from hers, so she asked Rachel countess questions about her extensive family, her childhood, her work. Her boyfriend, currently in Ethiopia, a journalist in Africa's poorest communities who also made note of the villages most in need of oversees aid for medicines or clean water, using his position at one of the major news outlets in America to help get the funding and volunteers for the projects he commissioned. Every week Rachel brought her a new letter, and she was fascinated by the differences between the cultures. What she didn't know was Rachel left out the bits about how they treat the women; the bits that would hit too close to home.

And as the weeks passed, the two women began to grow close. Teresa still couldn't open up completely about her experiences, for example she hadn't told her when the assaulting had started or how her father would treat her, or about the very worst days when she would consider suicide, and every time she thought about trying to tell her she felt herself start to descend into panic, but she did manage to share some stories. It wasn't much, but even that served as a relief from the tumult of her mind. Rachel's mere presence made her feel safe, for some unfathomable reason. When she had nightmares, she would always be there at some point during the day to hold her gently and soothe her fears without even knowing what they were.

Their conversations had become deeper, more meaningful as they learned more about the other. Teresa's confidence and trust in Rachel had grown to the point that she could talk almost completely freely to her, for she listened without judgement. Once her bruised ribs healed she even found she could hug her without memories flashing through her mind, though whenever the doctors tried to help her sit up she still jumped into fight-or-flight before tamping down the instinct. Rachel also told stories about the patients she'd cared for, and they started to ignite a glimmer of hope in Teresa's heart. Maybe she could survive, could go on to do something worthwhile. Honour her promise to her mother, despite the fact she'd only said it to make the dying woman happy, not because she believed she could actually do anything great. She found herself telling stories from her own childhood, the first eight years of it, back when everything was fun. Going to Disneyland when she was six, the only big holiday she'd had. They'd saved for months, not telling her where they were going until they arrived outside the gates. Their dog, whom they'd had to give to a rescue centre when her mother fell ill because they simply couldn't afford it. The time her father had fallen off the porch roof into a bush and they hadn't been able to get him out for ages, they'd all been laughing so hard at limbs and a head surrounded by foliage and his comical fooling about.

But amidst the stories, the games of cards and chess, the novels she was devouring (she'd discovered a taste for romances and mystery) she was still haunted by those three faces coming towards her those nights in the hut. Sometimes she could have sworn she saw the Bulldog just outside her room. She still hadn't told anyone, not even Rachel who knew her fears, who they were as she was scared that the police would go after them. She had no doubt in her mind that they'd find her. The police station and prison were much nearer the hospital than the area their gang dominated.


	5. Chapter 5

Six weeks after she was admitted, Teresa was just about reaching her limit of seeing the same four walls, day in, day out. It was too cold to go outside so she did her physical therapy in her room, never seeing any other patients and it was always the same nurse who changed her bandages and brought her food. Rachel's visits were interesting and exciting but she was the only other person she saw. So it was somewhat of a relief when Dr. Ashe started talking about discharging her from the hospital.

"You've made leaps and bounds in your physical therapy, and Dr. Hughes and I think you're strong enough now to make the decision to leave here and continue your recovery in the outside world. Obviously we would recommend you come in for regular check-ups and we will also refer you to a psychiatrist..."

"But where would I go?" Teresa asked, the first question on her mind being the practical one. She didn't want to end up on the streets again and she would work for free for however long it took to repay the medical bill if only she could stay until she found a place to live.

"You could stay with me," Rachel, who had been visiting when the doctor came in to have this conversation, suggested. Hope rose in Teresa's chest but she tamped it down; it seemed far too good to be true. "I have a spare room, and it does get fairly lonely when Josh is overseas. I'd be working often, but I could help you find your feet, if you want."

"...Are you sure I wouldn't be in the way?"

"Absolutely not. It'll be nice, having a roommate again."

"What about if Josh comes to stay?"

"That's what the couch is for," she joked with a wink. "He won't mind. Believe me. He spends the majority of his time sleeping in dirt huts on the floor so he's more than happy to sleep on a couch. Even lying across seats at the airport is better, so he tells me. Don't worry about him."

"Ok." Impulse decisions had never really been her thing, or maybe they were and she just hadn't known it from almost a decade of careful time management. "I'd like to stay with you, Rachel. If it's not a nuisance."

"If it were, would I be offering?"

"...No."

"Exactly."

"Well, now that's settled," Dr. Ashe slipped back into the conversation, "just a couple more weeks to get your muscle mass up a bit more then I think you can go, unless anything arises in the meantime. OK?"

"Ok." The doctor slipped out the room.

"What about the bill?" Teresa asked suddenly, the smile wiped from her face. "It'll be expensive..."

"Don't worry. I've been saving up: since the first few times I visited you I thought this might happen if no one came forward who knew you. So don't worry about that."

Teresa pulled her into a hug. "I'll pay you back every cent."

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do."

Neither said anything more after that, and the subject was dropped.

***

Another couple of weeks and the cuts on her head were healed, her leg looking normal again (though she still sometimes got twinges of pain but they weren't major) and she was being discharged. Rachel paid the bill and lent her some clothes to go to the apartment in, and Teresa's cheeks hurt a little from smiling the whole car journey there.

It all seemed perfect as they went shopping for new clothes, got a takeaway and lounged in the park all afternoon. Rachel told her not to worry for the time being, just to focus on complete recovery then they'd start thinking about other things.

This pattern continued for a long time. Teresa quickly learned how to cook enough to keep herself fed while Rachel was working, and she also found herself checking budget sheets over to give herself something to do. They'd go out sometimes, but she mainly kept to herself and focussed on fully sorting out her leg amidst buying everything on the lists Rachel left for her. She remembered all her exercises and made sure to get some fresh air each day, whether just sitting next to an open window with a book or making her way down four flights of stairs to wander around the block. It was still chilly but she'd found a knitted red set of hat, scarf and gloves which kept the cold out along with the coat Rachel had bought her.

After a few weeks she found she was bored. She'd read all the books in the apartment, even all the ones she had little interest in, then reread all her favourites and the information ones on countries in Africa, and some journals of Josh's once she'd asked Rachel if it was ok. She drew up her own budget sheet to work out how much she was costing Rachel each week, plus the medical bill, so she could one day pay her back; she mastered Solitaire and started playing with two packs of cards to give herself more of a challenge. Living on the streets, there was a constant fight for survival: here, living in this fairly decent two-bedroom apartment with it all to herself half the time, she didn't have to fight to live any more, but sometimes she would lock herself in the bathroom, pull her hair back and just look at the tattoo that had gotten her into this situation. Half an hour sometimes, she stayed in there, never when Rachel was home, then she'd go out into the sitting room, lie back on the couch and write a list in pencil on the fly leaf of one of the books or a notepad of various pros and cons. Of living here; of getting a job. She'd write lists of ways she could honour her promise to her dying mother. Anything she did write she rubbed out straight away. It was cathartic, but also gave her mild anxiety attacks on particularly helpless days when everything she wrote seemed impossible for whatever reason. One of the things she learned during those first few weeks was how to bring herself out of one.

About six weeks after she moved in with the paramedic, Teresa grew more melancholy and closed off, sometimes just lying on the couch, staring into the mid-distance for hours on end. Rachel, hoping she wasn't regressing, tried her hardest to get her to open up or give her more things to do to occupy her but to no avail, until the evening of the 23rd of March.

"There's something going on with you, Teresa, and I'm worried," Rachel started, finally addressing her fears whereas before she'd tried to treat her roommate like the adult she was. Living with someone with so many issues was vastly different to visiting them in hospital.

"It's one year since my mother died tomorrow," she said in a quiet voice, twirling her fork in her spaghetti bolognaise. "I...I remember feeling the same way the few days before it happened."

"Is there anything I can do?" Rachel asked, realising that what she'd probably needed was space and, for the first time, that her training was vague; every person was different and needed different types of therapy. Her contact with each patient had always been limited until now, so much so that she could apply what she'd learned in her training to everyone.

"Is there a Catholic church anywhere?" came the sudden request. "She was devout, and I want to honour her. That's the only way I can think of to do it properly."

"I didn't know your family's Catholic."

"I'm not," she admitted, a little ashamed. "I just want to remember her, though if she knew that I'd already dropped out of school when she died I don't think she'd have been very proud of me."

"I think there might be one, on the opposite side of the town centre. I can take you there tomorrow, if you like."

"Yes please."

As Rachel drove, Teresa suddenly found herself doubting this decision. She didn't even have a crucifix or rosary, two things she'd never seen her mother without. What would people say? Was this church particularly strict, or more lenient when it came to newcomers?

"There's a bus stop just across the road," Rachel told her when they reached the church, bells clanging and people filing in. "Here's some money. Hey, and Teresa. Take as much time as you need. I know I'm working today but don't feel like you have to be at the apartment. This is for you and don't let anyone take it away."

"Ok. Thanks, Rachel."

She turned on her heel and jogged lightly up the path, looking nervously at the people milling around while finding a seat at the back. They all seemed very conservative, and she felt conspicuous in her red hat, dark waterproof coat and jeans. They didn't seem to be staring at her though.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been to Mass. Her mother stopped going when she got too ill so she must have been about thirteen, before they told her the cancer was terminal. She snuck looks at the congregation throughout the service in order to do everything correctly and thereby blend in; the choir sung beautifully in their robes, the idols on the walls shimmering in the candlelight.

The sermon was about loving thy neighbour, and though she'd only intended on simply thinking about Mama something about it hit home with her. Maybe it was the underlying message of being realistic (you can't help everyone) but not discriminating (don't not help someone just because you don't agree with their beliefs) that got to her and made her listen in raptures, or maybe it was the delivery of the priest, who clearly believed so whole-heartedly in what he was saying that Teresa knew he would turn his words into actions whenever he could. One boy sitting in the pew in front turned round and smiled at her while the priest was going round with the incense in its burner - she gave him a taut smile back, unsure of the look in his eyes.

She kept her head bowed during the taking of the bread and wine, but when the priest reached her he gently lifted her chin with a finger and studied her face for a moment before laying a heavy hand on her head and blessing her as the service asked.

After the service she took a deep breath, the remnants of the incense burning her lungs and almost making her cough. The priest came up behind her and surprised her while she was spluttering.

"Not used to the incense yet, I see," he commented, smiling.

"Not quite," she admitted, bowing her head in respect and some nervousness.

"You're new here, aren't you, my child?"

"Yes, Father."

"What is your name?"

"Teresa."

"I see you wear no crucifix, are you not of our church?"

"My mother was."

"Was?"

"She died a year ago today. I wanted to remember her."

"Oh, my condolences, child."

"Thank you. I really enjoyed your sermon, it spoke of things I would have others believe." He didn't reply, and she suddenly felt awkward. She couldn't remember - was it acceptable to compliment the priest on his work? "I should probably get going, actually."

"Good day, child. I hope to see you again." Teresa kissed his hand as was the custom and made her way out of the church, trying not to let the emotions that had crept up on her be seen.

On leaving the churchyard she decided to sit on her own and think for a while, clear her head of the muggy effect of the incense and get her emotions sorted, either through a crying session or bottling them up, whichever came easiest. Going into the graveyard behind the church however, she saw that wasn't going to happen. The boy who'd smiled at her earlier was kissing one of the choir girls against the wall; instantly she recognised the grope of one intent on his target, and the panic of the victim. She silently stepped onto the grass; the girl noticed over his shoulder, and mouthed _Help me_ , distress clear on her face. Teresa put her finger to her lips before leaping forward and wrestling him off, arms gripping round his neck to cut off his breathing in a feat of muscle memory she didn't think she'd had the capacity for, especially given her ongoing recuperation. They ended up on the ground, him trying to get at her in revenge. Compared with the tougher gang members her skill wasn't worth mentioning but it was more than enough to roll the boy over until she had him pinned down in the mud with one hand fisted in his collar and her knee in the small of his back.

"Thank you!" the girl exclaimed tearfully, keeping her distance as she hastily smoothed her skirt down.

"It's ok," she growled back, still holding him in a vice grip.

"Teresa! What is going on here? Unhand Michael at once!"

"Can't do that. He was trying to molest this girl." She punctuated the word 'molest' with a subtle lean, kneecap digging into his back and making him writhe.

"Is this true, my dear?" the priest asked the shaking choirgirl, who could only nod. He turned back to Teresa. "Bless you, my child. If you could get off him, I shall talk to him. I think you're hurting him."

"Bastards like that deserve to be hurt," she muttered under her breath as the Father took him away, somewhat satisfied that she'd managed to stop what happened to her happening to someone else.

"Thank you so much!" The girl slammed into her, hugging her tightly. She knew it was from relief but still couldn't stop the images flashing across her mind, however she kept her face stoic.

"He's been after me for a while. How lucky for me that you came by!"

"Mm."

"So what's your name?"

"Teresa. Ortiz. You?"

"Annabelle Clarke. With an e. I'm in the choir."

"I know, I saw you. Beautiful singing, by the way."

"Aw, thanks! I've got a bit of a sore throat today though so I wasn't very good. But the soloist, the choirboy, John, he was excellent, wasn't he!"

"He has such a pure voice!" Teresa exclaimed, Annabelle finally saying something she agreed wholeheartedly with. "He has a bright future ahead of him if he doesn't lose it when his voice breaks."

"I know, right? Where do you live?"

"Err...I'm not entirely sure, I just moved there. In fact, I really should be checking bus timings."

"Oh, can't you drive?"

"Didn't get a chance to learn."

"Well, you really should. It comes in so useful, and anyway I need it to get to work. I'm a hairdresser but the salon's across town."

That made complete sense in Teresa's head.

"Still in training though. It's great, I really enjoy it. Can't do everything yet though. Can I give you a lift back?"

"Err, no, I'm fine. And I don't know the way or address so I'm just going to go look at the timetable. Thanks though." She made to walk off but Annabelle called after her,

"It's a while until the next one. They're every hour; it's ten past now. Come to mine, kill some time. I literally live two minutes away."

"Err, ok, thanks." Teresa followed the rather over-enthusiastic girl about two hundred yards down the street to a large, redbrick house with a decent-sized, well-kept garden. It looked very like her childhood home but bigger, and she was hit with a wave of nostalgia as they walked up the path.

"Mom! My friend Teresa from church." Friend? Teresa thought she was being a bit presumptuous but let it go. She didn't know anyone around here, she should probably start making acquaintances.

An attractive woman in her early forties appeared down the wide stairs. "Hello, dear."

"Teresa Ortiz," she stepped forward, hand outstretched.

"You can call me Mrs Clarke," the woman told her, barely taking her hand.

"She came to church today. I think she just moved here." Teresa nodded to confirm it. "She's waiting for a bus."

"Where did you move from, dear?"

"Sacramento." Both of them cringed visibly.

"Oh, dear, what a horrible life you must have had. All that gang violence!"

"We didn't live in an area that was affected."

"Well, that's good, then, isn't it." She patted her cheek and Teresa had to fight to not flinch away.

"Come on, Teresa. My room's just up here." Annabelle led her through the immaculate hall and up the carpeted stairs to a room that made the rest of the house look even more spotless. Amongst the expensive furniture and really rather nice decoration, clothes, makeup, hairstyling products and magazines were littered all over the place. Annabelle shoved some clothes off the bed and haphazardly pulled the cover straight before patting the spot beside her.

Forty-five minutes later and Teresa thought she knew exactly why her new acquaintance had a sore throat. She talked for the majority of the time, about her stuff, her decision-making process for decorating the walls, what the different hair products were for. Her head was spinning by the time she excused herself to go wait at the bus stop.

"Want me to come with you?" Annabelle bounced excitedly off the swivel chair at her desk.

"No, I'm fine. But thanks anyway. Thank you for letting me stay for a bit, Mrs Clarke," she said when she reached the front hall.

"You're welcome dear. Anytime."

"Oh, Teresa! Thanks again for earlier."

"No problem."

"See you next week?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Bye."

"See ya!" She waved over-enthusiastically and Teresa rolled her eyes as soon as she was out of sight.

Ten minutes later she was on the bus, but she still couldn't get a quiet moment as there were a group of boys just behind her, not noisy enough to attract the driver's attention but loud enough to disrupt her. There was no way, however, that she was going to confront them unnecessarily, so she just waited, tried to block them out until she got off the bus and walked the couple blocks to the apartment.

But even then she couldn't pause. The light on the phone was flashing with a voicemail from Rachel, calling to remind her to pick up some shopping and visit someone Teresa had never met, but apparently Rachel helped give their caretaker an occasional afternoon off. The phone rang just as she put it down and it was Rachel, with more detailed explanations.

"I know you're not qualified but I know you took care of your mother, and I hope this isn't presumptuous of me. If it is I will repay you however I can."

She was very apologetic, but there was a rota and whoever's week it was this week couldn't do it, was what Teresa gathered so she sighed, made a list of shopping and the address, and got on with it.

The store wasn't too far from the apartment; when the shopping was done and put away, she walked to the home of the person she was to visit. She had no idea how long she'd be there or even what she was meant to do, and she was nervous. She was no stranger to giving specialised care but she had no doubt that this would be much different. She didn't know if it would be easier or harder than watching one's own mother fade away but once the door was open and it was made clear who she was, she was rushed into a flurry of half-baked instructions and, after five minutes of trying to absorb everything (if only so she could write it down once he left) she was ushered into a sitting-room-turned-bedroom. A lady who didn't look that much older than her father when he died lay in the chair, feet propped up on the funny machine that turned it into a chair bed of sorts, looking very small against the pile of pillows and blankets surrounding her. She turned a greying head towards the sound of her carer's voice and smiled.

"This is Teresa. She's a friend of Rachel's and she'll be looking after you today."

"Teresa. That's a pretty name. My, you don't look very old." Her voice was kind, crow's feet around her eyes making her look like the sort of person who'd smiled a lot before - whatever it was that had befallen her. "Do sit down."

"My number's on the kitchen table, call if you end up in dire straights. Thank you for doing this, Teresa."

"Ok," she replied. "Have a good afternoon."

She turned back to the Molly Prince in the chair, who was studying her face so intently it made her squirm.

"You have seen a lot of strife, dear."

Teresa wasn't sure how to respond to that so she kept her face passive.

"I can read people, read their pasts in their faces and their futures in their palms."

The carer had warned her about the eccentricity of the lady's skills and beliefs but it was different from anything she'd ever experienced, so she was able to show true interest.

"How did you figure out you could do that?" she asked, leaning forward a bit and resting her elbows on her knees.

"It's a family skill, passed down my mother's side. I always knew I could see the future. So I always knew I would catch this illness and be confined to this bed. Ah well. It will not stop me from enjoying my last few months, or using my skill to help others! Let me read you, dear. Your past," here she gazed into her face, a small frown appearing between the thin, almost non-existent eyebrows, "or your future? You decide, dear. In return for your sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?"

"I am sure a pretty young woman like you has much better things to be doing than looking after little old me, who will be dead before summer is over."

Teresa winced. The waiting for death was almost worse, she thought, than a sudden death must be, for there's no waiting, no hanging around on tenderhooks, putting your own life on hold to make sure you're there for the moment.

"Oh, dear, I've upset you. Not to worry - I won't mention it again. Lips are sealed on the subject. I can see...no, I won't ask. They are painful memories you carry around, and so many for one so young! But I sense you have a bright future ahead of you and you are in need of positive thought. The mind is a powerful thing, Teresa! 'Whether you think you can or whether you think you can't, you're always right'. I forget who said that. But no matter." She indicated towards Teresa's hand. "May I?"

"Oh...I suppose so." She held out her hand palm up, and the thin fingers took it and held it gently, but with a surprising underlying strength that somehow Teresa knew was the strength of whatever mind power she had, whether it was that of positive thought or just a strong personality trapped in a failing body. She watched the woman's face as she studied her palm, getting worried when she frowned.

"Well, dear...at the rate you're going...manager of a grocery store. You work your way up, you're good at the job but I can see you are worth so much more than that."

"Oh." Despite some initial scepticism borne of a childhood of Catholicism and her morning at church she couldn't help but wonder if Molly was right. Maybe it was just her lethargy making her wish and hope for a purpose and a job she enjoyed, but she found herself desperately wanting her own city dream to come true instead of Molly's.

"I can see your thoughts, dear. You need to work on your poker face. I see you have big dreams but I'd advise you not to move yet. Settle here for a bit, save up. That's what I did. Though I never moved from here it feels good to have money coming in, whatever you use it for, whether it be a place at college or buying a house or getting married."

"I'll bear that in mind, Mrs...Molly. Thank you. Can I get you anything?"

"A drop of tea would be lovely, thank you dear."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback fairly near the beginning.

Molly fell asleep hours later, after a long, easy conversation that mainly revolved around Molly's knowledge, and she finally had a moment to herself. She was relieved that the talk had flowed so readily - after the one-sided conversation with Annabelle earlier and her struggles to fully open up to Rachel, even now, it was a breath of fresh air and reminded Teresa that while she still had a lot of work to do in emotional healing as well as physical, it wasn't a lost cause as it so often seemed.

The gift of this woman was intriguing, but so was the brand of Catholicism she'd been exposed to this morning. Her father's religion had been strict, very much about obeying the Ten Commandments and the laws set out in the Bible. 'Honour thy father and mother' was a big one and she'd been on the receiving end of its angry recital so many times it had almost begun to lose meaning. Her mother had been more about the prayer and relying on the Virgin's blessing to help one be a good person, and Teresa had never known what to believe so she'd prayed depending on which parent was kneeling with her. On her own she'd always ended up drifting off into her own world, at first just from a child's inability to sit still, but later it was stress and trying to plan her essays or write shopping lists in her head so the time wasn't wasted. The Father's method was more like her mother's but with less emphasis on regular prayer for guidance and more on actually doing something.

Mulling it over was beginning to stress her out a bit so she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focussing on the sounds she could hear outside the bungalow: traffic, a siren somewhere in the distance - different to a police siren, though it still made her jump a little - the breeze shifting leaves on the sidewalk.

 _Breathe, Teresa, breathe,_ she told herself. S _top over-thinking._

When she opened her eyes she was a little calmer, and for the first time, she made an active decision to not let the decision bother her. It wasn't really worth it - she'd be passive and neutral, try and do good deeds and honour her promise to her mother.

Now that was sorted and her heart was somewhat back to normal, she'd seen a book that she remembered being on her mother's shelf so, hoping Molly wouldn't mind, she picked it out and curled up with it, turning the pages carefully.

It was a worn, cloth-bound copy of Les Misérables, but unlike her mother's which had been in Maria's native Mexican Spanish, which she could understand enough of to get the gist of a novel, this was in the original French. She'd always been terrible at French at school so, slightly disappointed at the missed opportunity to read one of the books she loved hearing passages from as a child, she slipped it carefully back onto the shelf before running a finger along the other spines, hoping to find something to do before it was time to make the supper.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and when Molly's carer returned she was able to say it went well with a smile on her face.

"Did she try to read your future?"

"Yep. It's fascinating, actually. Not sure I could sign off on it though."

"I know what you mean. She's a funny one. Goodnight."

"Night."

The moment she stepped out the door her heart sank. She hadn't realised it was already dark, and walking alone late at night in a relatively strange city was bound to get her into trouble. So she hurried along the pavements, avoiding any kind of contact with people, and managed to get back safely, collapsing against the door in relief when it was finally shut and chained shut behind her.

Bacon sandwiches were all she could handle that evening after the anxiety created by getting back, and she went straight to bed after a shower, her unexpectedly busy day having tired her out.

***

_Just a few minutes. That's all. A few minutes out of her way to drop off her friend's forgotten exercise book at her house before going home for dinner. She was looking forward to it: Mama had been feeling better so they were having a nice meal in to celebrate. Ok, it was a takeaway, but it was a nice takeaway from a Chinese restaurant they used to frequent. She'd be five minutes later than usual, maximum. She was taking an after-school first aid course near her school on her father's insistence, so 'usual time' Wednesday evenings was always six thirty. And they never started dinner until at least seven, not now she was old enough to eat with her parents._

_The book was dropped off and received with a grateful hug, and she was only a street away from home, skipping happily and humming the song they'd learned in music that day when she was grabbed roughly and hauled through a narrow street into a part of the play park she met her friends in some Saturdays, her scream forbidden to sound by a large hand over her mouth. A glint of silver shone in the moonlight and she was suddenly absolutely afraid she was going to die. She swiped out, her fist connecting with an ugly face. He spat and wiped his mouth with his hand, showing it almost proudly to his friends before grinning nastily at her. There was blood there._

_"Not afraid to fight back. Perfect," he sneered in her face. Fifteen minutes later she was kicked - literally - out of the park, stumbling on the kerb and tumbling to her knees. Her hand went to her neck, the pain there from the needle almost too much. She untied her hair and let it fall, hoping it would cover the evidence from her family._

_It took her ten minutes to find her way back in the dark, and when she eventually slipped into the house her parents had already started. Her father was pouring what looked like second glasses of wine, much to her confusion as she thought her mother couldn't drink wine with her illness, but he stopped when he saw her standing sheepishly in the doorway._

_"I got a little lost in the dark, I'm sorry I'm late, Mama." She kissed her mother's cheek in apology and left her bag at the bottom of the stairs to take up later._

_"No worries,_ chica. _I am happy to see you," she smiled and picked up her fork again (Teresa was the only one who had mastered chopsticks) but her father was not so pleased._

_"You come in here half an hour late and just expect us to forgive you?"_

_Teresa froze, hand halfway through opening her closed containers at her placemat._

_"Not even a phone call?"_

_"I didn't have any money for a phone box..."_

_"That is no excuse. You disrespect your mother and I, and especially your mother's new turn of health with this tardiness. You can eat in your room, seeing as I spent money on that food for you."_

_"Jorge," Mama often called Dad by the Mexican version of his name, though he was third-generation American, "is it really so bad? She got lost, that is all! Let us celebrate together, as a family. What is more important?"_

_"Being a family means we must_ respect _each other, Maria," he spoke quietly but his clenched fists on the table as he stood over them both told of his anger. "I do not know how we can function without respect and your daughter there has none."_

_"Jorge, she is your daughter too!" Maria laid her hand over George's but he moved it away; if he had been a child his movements could have been called stroppy._

_"Go to your room."_

_Without a word, Teresa slipped down, taking her containers with her as he'd said she could. Thinking of something, she paused at the door, her young girl's bravery not quite ruined yet despite her new gang membership, and she was determined not to let her father get her down._

_"Forgive me, but as you think I have so little respect for my elders I may as well say this. I don't think you're respecting Mama's doctors' wishes. Didn't they say she was to drink no alcohol? Won't it make her worse?"_

_At that, George stormed round the table and pinched her ear, making her cry out though she tried to keep it in._

_"No supper for you, young lady!" He practically threw her out the door and she stumbled again, falling onto the same knee and wincing as she scraped it again where it hurt. Picking up her bag on the way she fought back tears until she was safe inside her bedroom, then she cuddled her favourite teddy bear to her while she tried to do her homework._

_Hunger and her run in with the gang members hampered her concentration and she quickly gave up, getting into bed a whole hour earlier than what she would normally consider early and burying her head in her pillow to try and mute the sounds of her parents arguing downstairs, the dining room right beneath her bedroom._

_***_

She woke with a start, sweat running down her face before she recognised that it was six years later and all that was over. After a shower to freshen up she put a fresh pot of coffee on to brew and Rachel walked in the door at the same time the green light flashed on.

"Perfect timing," she smiled as she filled Rachel's favourite mug.

"You star," she murmured, taking a sip and flopping down onto the couch. "How was Molly?" she asked when the caffeine had kicked in and her shoes had been kicked off, feet tucked underneath her for warmth as the heating hadn't quite warmed up yet. Teresa was glad to turn attention away from yet another nightmare. Flashback. Whatever they were. Details were often fuzzy and she'd done her best to forget all those painful days, live one day to the next.

"Eccentric. But interesting. It's amazing, how much she knows and remembers."

"Yep. Quite the fountain of knowledge. What did she tell you was going to happen?"

"I..." She struggled to say what Molly had told her yesterday. "Nothing much."

"Your face says otherwise."

"You know, for years of secret gang membership you think I'd be better at hiding things," she sighed, digging into her cereal. "She said I'd be manager of the grocery store. At best. Something about 'at the rate I'm going', but I don't know. Everything else she said was interesting; just not my future."

"Hey. It's not set in stone, believe me. She told me Josh would have proposed by now."

Teresa looked up, mouth full of cereal, honestly rather shocked at the open admission. The look on Rachel's face was unreadable. She'd asked, "Why hasn't he?" through her mouthful before she could stop herself.

"I don't know what goes through men's minds, Teresa. It's probably because we're both so busy with work...look. I'm not _expecting_ him to at any point but it would be nice, I guess."

"You _guess_?!"

"How did this conversation become about me? What I meant was, you don't have to believe that whatever old Molly says is the gospel truth. The most valuable lesson I learned - and not from her - is that there is not a single glass ceiling without a trapdoor or a weak spot. It might be difficult to find but eventually you'll get through."

"I always dreamed of going to LA. Even before I tried to run away from Sacramento."

"Then make that your goal." Rachel yawned widely. "Sorry! Right, I'm going to bed for a bit." She stretched her neck out and downed the last of her coffee. "What have you got planned today?"

"I have no idea."

"Tell you what: how about you go further into town, where most of the shops are and see if any of them are hiring? Go to our grocer and just keep going along that road. You'll see a barber on the left when you get to the main business district. Have a wander round and ask if any of them are hiring. They can only say no."

"Um...ok."

"You need to get outside, you're wasting away in here." She reached out to cup her face but Teresa still instinctively flinched, a reaction that still sometimes reared its head despite the level of comfort they'd reached, so she withdrew her hand without a word.

The doorbell rang just then; Rachel groaned.

"It's probably someone from down the hall about mail. Whoever it is I'm not in," she called quietly over her shoulder as she got to her room. Teresa nodded in acknowledgement before looking through the peep-hole.

"Hello?" She trusted Rachel, but she didn't trust whoever might be on the other side of that door.

"Rachel, if this is a joke it's not funny," the untidy-looking man on the other side of the door groaned. Teresa recognised his face through the peep-hole from the photos Rachel had shown her so she opened the door a crack.

"Are you Rachel's boyfriend?"

"Josh McGuire." His smile was genuine but surprised, and he held his hand out when she opened the door fully. "You must be Teresa? Sorry: I'm filthy, it's been a long journey."

"It's good to meet you at last," she replied, shaking his hand.

"Josh?" Rachel's head popped out her door with an almost comical jack-in-the-box suddenness, her face lighting up when she saw him. She ran to him in pyjama bottoms and paramedic's shirt, tiredness apparently forgotten, and Teresa, stuck against the wall beside the door, looked away so as not to invade their privacy as he caught her from her skidding socks and lifted her - actually _lifted_ her - into his arms.

When it didn't look like they would let go for a while she tried to slip away, feeling a little uncomfortable at intruding while simultaneously finding herself wishing she had someone who would pick her up like that, but Rachel sensed it and pulled back, her feet landing on the floor but their arms staying locked around each other.

"Josh, this is Teresa Ortiz. Teresa, my boyfriend, Josh."

"Back from Ethiopia," Teresa smiled. Josh looked vaguely amused. "I thought you weren't coming back for another week or so."

"We finished early and instead of taking the holiday there, as much as I love Africa, I missed you." Josh brought his left hand up to cup Rachel's cheek, kissing her softly but briefly. "And I couldn't wait to meet your roommate!"

"Don't look so worried, I only told both of you the good stuff." She winked, and somehow Teresa knew she could relax, that she was teasing. She was getting better at recognising things like that. Or maybe she was just getting to know Rachel better - she should really get out in the world a bit more and find out for herself.

"There's coffee, if you want," she blurted after a few seconds.

"Coffee would be great but I need a shower first."

"Yes you do, Mr. Travelled For Months With Two Sets of Clothes," Rachel shot back, helping him off with his rucksack and putting it in an empty corner, clearly designated for that purpose. "And a shave. You scratch. He doesn't actually travel with just two sets but he may as well. Less washing when he gets back. Everything will be burned when you get out," she huffed as she lugged his rucksack across the room.

"She makes that joke every time," Josh whispered to Teresa as he passed her. "For someone who works with blood every day she can't stand the Ethiopian dust getting everywhere."

"Aren't ambulances meant to be spotless though? I mean, you don't want injuries getting infected or anything."

"Thank you, Teresa! At least _someone_ agrees with me," Rachel called from where she was sorting his clothes into what looked like dirty, very dirty and meant-to-be-whites.

"In Africa they have no choice or means enough to keep wounds from getting infected," was his parting blow before the bathroom door shut behind him. Teresa raised an eyebrow as the clothes he was wearing were dropped outside too, trying not to think too much about his last statement and focussing on the questions burning in her mind as she crossed the room with the clothes hanging off the ends of her fingers, dropping them into the relevant piles.

"Does Josh not have an apartment of his own?"

"He does but he and his roommate don't really get on too well any more. I don't know why, he keeps quiet on that subject. Here's always his first port of call when he gets back and the last one before he goes. I like to think it's me but the washing machines actually work in this building. And let's face it, his always need sterilising after a trip." She winked again to show she was teasing. This would take some getting used to.

"Why don't you just move in together?"

"We agreed some time ago that - could you grab a washing basket or two? - if it got that far, we'd wait until marriage before buying a place together."

"That's sensible, I think," she tentatively agreed, cocking her head as she thought about it while scooping the piles into washing baskets. Avoiding the dirt would be difficult until someone got the hoover out of the shared housekeeping cupboard in the hall and tidied up all the sleeping and eating kit scattered around.

"Saves having a battle over the house if the relationship tanks," Rachel shrugs.

"But you'd rather he just got on with it."

Rachel paused in her sorting and sat back on her haunches, looking towards the bathroom door and the direction of the muffled singing and rushing water coming from within. She smiled fondly and dropped her voice a tone or two as she turned back to Teresa, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor and picking up items at random. "We've been together seven years now. How much longer does he need?"

Teresa awkwardly patted her friend's shoulder, trying to reassure but having no clue as to what to say.

The water shut off, and two minutes later he walked out with just a towel round his waist, humming something. Teresa averted her eyes but smiled inadvertently when she heard Rachel yelling at him.

"Clothes, Joshua!"

"I forgot to get them, sorry!" He half-jogged across the living room space towards a small chest of drawers, rummaged through them then jogged back. Thirty seconds and he was back, crouching behind Rachel and nuzzling his now clean-shaven face against her neck.

"Better?"

"Much," she whispered, and he kissed her jaw.

"Teresa, could you possibly run those down to the laundry room? We need to...sort all this out." Josh's hands had landed on Rachel's waist and Teresa could sense a hidden meaning that she wasn't sure she wanted to read into, so she nodded and nipped into her room to change out of her pyjamas before going down, a basket under each arm and washing powder balanced on top of the dirty mounds.

When she got back up, Rachel was in her pyjamas properly and she and Josh were on the couch, her head in his lap and her eyes closed. His hand absentmindedly threaded through her hair as the other flipped clumsily through a pile of Polaroids on the couch arm.

"She needed to sleep," he whispered as she crossed the room on tiptoes, "but refused to go to bed."

"Do you want a hand?" Josh chuckled at the unintentional pun.

"Sure. These are all in chronological order, I just need to sort through and pick the ones to send to my boss and which to put in my photo album. Personally I prefer the happy ones while he prefers the ones that show the difference we make. Before and after, as it were. Emotive ones."

Teresa picked up a couple of the photos, smiling at the happy faces of the children as they crowded around him. A few gorgeous sunsets that elicited a gasp from her, as she'd never seen a proper sunset before, and herds of animals were followed by some truly awful pictures. She barely glanced at a few before turning them over so the pile remained in the same order.

"I hate taking those ones. The last thing these people need is some white idiot sticking his camera into their business, even if he does something to help. But I have to. Emotive pictures sell, and money gets these projects completed."

"What exactly do you do out there? Rachel told me some, but what kind of projects do you do?" she asked as she continued shifting through.

"Things like boring down to water sources so they can have clean water every day instead of having to travel hundreds of miles on foot for dirty water; building better houses, training health workers in the villages and provide supplies. Things like that: basic human rights we take for granted here.

"Then I write about what we do, the projects, progress, my experiences. I get my hands dirty but every evening I'll write a journal up and that journal, after some editing, appears in a paper every once in a while to drum up support and funds. Sometimes, if I can, I'll send them half the journal and they'll publish that, then the rest when I get back. Often I'm in villages without even an electricity supply, let alone a phone or computer. But sometimes they get a camera crew out there."

"Are you the only one?"

"The only one for that paper. There's a big group of us, we work for one company but are placed with papers and the company sends us out. It's good fun, and there's lots still to do in Africa and Asia so I'm not often out of work, but it's tiring. Emotionally too. But I enjoy it, and I get to come back to this," he waved a hand around the apartment, looking down at Rachel's sleeping form before turning back to Teresa, "so it's worth it."

"Is she really worth that much? Not that she's not an amazing person, but..." she mused out loud. Despite, or maybe because of, her father's almost obsessive (but never, as far as she could tell, truly proactive) love for her mother that led him to abandon both of them and their needs in almost every possible way while he worked overtime to pay the bills, the concept of a single person being enough for one's happiness was a little alien to her.

"I know what you mean. She's my world," he replied softly. Rachel shifted in her sleep, curling closer towards him.

Teresa bit her lip to stop the question on the tip of her tongue from spilling out and looked down at the stunning sunrise in her hands, giraffe silhouettes and blood red haze making it her favourite picture so far.

***

The plan of job-hunting that Rachel had suggested never happened: instead the three of them lounged around in the apartment, sorting Josh's photos and sticking them into an album, making occasional trips down to the laundry room for the women's clothing once Josh's was all done and folded away (they usually asked Teresa to do it and she was happy to let them be for a while), but mainly just talking, putting off going outside for there was a particularly chilly nip in the air that day, as Teresa found out when she leaned against the window for the dodgy catch to come undone and let a harsh bite of cold air into the previously warm apartment. She was left to snuggle in a blanket with a hot water bottle on her own while the couple shared body heat under their own blanket while they waited for the central heating to kick in again.

They ordered in that night, watched whatever program was on the TV when Teresa turned it on (she actually found it interesting, but from the quiet whispering she gathered that Rachel and Josh were far more interested in each other. It did make her feel a little left out, but this was only a temporary situation, wasn't it? If the small something Josh had quickly snuck into a drawer when his girlfriend wasn't looking was any indication. She hadn't seen what it was but she could make a fairly confident guess.)


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, she was getting a little tired of Rachel and Josh's constant touching and hugging and kissing so she wrapped up warm and took Rachel's advice from the day before, walking into town and asking around if they were hiring. Not many were, and the few that did have signs up told her to put together a resume and call to arrange an interview. They were very nice about it but she still left the last shop feeling discouraged and altogether useless. How was she meant to put together a resume when she hadn't graduated high school, and her grades when she'd left from pure tiredness and feeling disheartened weren't worth remembering, despite being burned into the backs of her eyes? There was no way she was going to get a job with the Es and Us on her books in harsh red pen.

She got a hot chocolate to take out from her favourite little cafe, stopped for a few minutes to talk to Annabelle, who was in there with her mother and as excitable as always, and promise to see her at church that Sunday, then excused herself as soon as she could to walk back. The grocer's was open, and now they knew her quite well she wondered if it was worth a shot asking for a job. They were nice in there, and helpful when she got confused when they rearranged the stock (why they'd done that, she'd never know), plus it was ten minutes closer to the apartment to the other shops. As she went in and wandered round a bit, trying to gather the courage to ask, she wondered why Rachel hadn't suggested she ask there.

"Hi Teresa." She turned to see the manager, Mark, smiling at her. "Did you forget something yesterday?"

"Yes," she blurted out, gripping her hot chocolate tighter with bubbling anxiety. "No. I...Rachel thought it would be a good idea for me to go and ask if anyone was hiring."

"So why are you in the bread section? The loaves aren't in a position to hire."

"I don't know," she replied sheepishly, smiling wanly at the well-meant joke. He chuckled, a knowing look in his eye.

"I can understand why. Would you like a job here?"

"Well, I need to get out and do something, and I feel bad for Rachel having to pay for everything...sorry, that was irrelevant... I'd need a resume though, right?"

"Usually but I'm more concerned with how well you actually work. Some people can be excellent on paper but they're not right for the job in whatever capacity. So, I am happy to arrange a trial shift for you if you want? I'll pair you up with one of our more experienced workers who'll help you with stock checking and the tills etcetera, everything that needs doing on a day-to-day basis so you can get a feel for it. Is there a date that would suit you best?"

"Well, I don't have any other commitments so any day is fine." She couldn't quite believe this was happening so quickly, and she agreed to Mark's suggestion of a few days' time without really registering. He gave her a piece of paper with the date and time on to remind her, told her what to wear and shook her hand with a smile.

"So I'll see you then."

"Yeah. Thanks," she bade farewell and left the store in a daze, walking back to the apartment still clutching her now lukewarm hot chocolate, paper burning a hole in her pocket.

She walked in on Rachel and Josh cooking, or rather, Rachel giggling on the counter beside the cooker and Josh standing between her legs while sausages sizzled merrily away in the frying pan. She cleared her throat and they jumped apart, but there was still that level of intimacy between them she always felt she was interrupting.

"Any success?" Rachel asked, jumping off the counter and turning the sausages, all three of them wincing at the slightly burned undersides while the rest was still fairly uncooked.

"I've got a trial shift at the grocer's," she admitted shyly, glancing up to see Rachel's reaction.

"That's great! When?"

"Next Tuesday. Eight til one."

The next week or so went in much the same way, and Josh didn't seem to want to go back to his apartment. Instead he spent time with Teresa while Rachel was at work, taking her to places she hadn't had the chance to go yet and generally getting to know her. She appreciated the effort and that he quickly discovered and kept to boundaries, and Rachel knew by the happy glint in her eye that she was at least happier than she had been a few months ago, even if she was still tired from broken nights, and Sunday was especially exhausting as she tried to keep up with Annabelle's excitability.

He took her to his company's headquarters a couple of days before her trial shift, as something to try and distract her from her nerves. While he talked to numerous people and typed up his journal (the 'boring, important stuff', apparently), she sat in a swivel chair next to his desk and fiddled with the book he'd lent her. She could feel people's stares boring into her from all directions and it distracted her so much she couldn't focus on _Children of Gebewali_ , much less balance the book on her lap and turn the pages with one hand constantly rubbing her neck in self-consciousness.

"You ok, buddy?" he asked as he sat down after one of his meetings, loosening the tie round his neck. He'd started calling her that quite quickly, and she was surprised to find she didn't mind it. It actually made her feel like she belonged somewhere a little more.

"Is everyone staring at me?"

"They probably think you're my little sister or cousin or something they didn't know about. It's harmless, they're just curious. I'll tell them to back off if it's making you uncomfortable."

"No, no...it's ok." It wasn't, but she hated being difficult almost more than she hated being the centre of attention. She turned back to her book, and Josh switched his computer on. They were silent for maybe fifteen minutes, and she got through a good number of chapters before a loud thump made her start out of the alleyway in Cairo.

"Damn it! Stupid machine." He slumped back in his chair, the momentum spinning it round slowly. Teresa hastily bit back a smile before the chair eventually turned three quarters around to face her, Josh's face hidden behind his hands. "I hate computers."

She'd never used one so she had no idea, so she just made a noncommittal sound, but a glance up determined that he didn't look like he was going to be making an effort to recover his work anytime soon so Teresa decided to ask a burning question that was really none of her business, but he looked like he needed something else to concentrate on.

"When are you planning on asking Rachel to marry you?" she asked casually, turning over a page. The panic on his face when she looked up almost made her laugh. He leaned in close and whispered,

"Do you think she knows there's a ring in that drawer?"

"I don't think so. She's just mentioned it a couple of times to me, I just wondered when you were going to get around to it. Seven years is a long time."

"Yeah. I wanted to make sure it was right...I'm so nervous about it. What if she doesn't say yes?"

"Then Rachel has been abducted and her secret twin sister put in her place. Seriously."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Speak of the devil..." he murmured, gesturing towards the elevator doors. Rachel was just stepping out, hair a mess and clearly just clocked out of a hectic shift as she made a beeline for them. Josh stood up to greet her and even he was surprised at the force with which she hugged him. Teresa hastily turned back to her book and kicked her chair a half-turn round; everyone else in the office was not so subtly doing the same as the buzz of whispered conversations suddenly turned more excited, though the volume never rose a decibel.

**Josh**

"What's wrong, Rach?"

"Marry me." He wasn't sure what he had been expecting but that certainly wasn't it. It took a couple of seconds for it to sink in and then - the first realisation was that she'd beat him to it. He smiled, grinned so widely at his own stalling, cupping her cheek and kissing her soundly, his other hand pulling her in close. The office had fallen silent but he didn't hear the difference.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you?" Her eyes watched his, looking for any sign of rejection. Surely she should know by now? He was all hers, always would be.

"What do you think? Of course I will." The smile that split her face was worth every second he spent away, missing her. Everyone applauded as she pulled him in again, gasping against his lips as he dipped her suddenly. Teresa applauded with the rest, and when they finally broke apart to look at her she was wearing a huge smile, but it only partially reached her eyes. She hung back as his colleagues and boss congratulated them. Josh didn't think he'd ever shaken more hands in the space of five minutes, or received more slaps on the back. Or as much teasing, for that matter, for being the first man at that company (or ever, as one person remarked snidely with a nudge to his neighbour) to have been proposed to by his girlfriend instead of the other way round.

"Congratulations, guys," Teresa's well-wishes were genuine but there was still that sadness, almost wistfulness, in her eyes as she took them in, arms practically locked around each other.

"You know what?" Josh suggested, glancing between the women. "Let's go home, pop a bottle of bubbly and celebrate."

Rachel nodded, resting her head against his shoulder as they walked to the elevator. Teresa followed a couple of steps behind.

Back at the apartment, Teresa went to pick up the washing they'd set going that morning while he and his fiancée - the word excited him every time it hit him - went to get the apartment sorted for their little impromptu engagement party. Kissing Rachel held a much deeper significance now, and he relished the gentleness, the love pouring from her every movement, though he couldn't deny he was looking forward to that night, when they were probably a bit too tipsy and hyped up on post-engagement endorphins.

He went straight to the drawer he'd hidden the ring in while Rachel took a quick shower. He fidgeted for the whole five minutes. He shouldn't be this nervous - it was only a sealing of the deal, as it were. They were already engaged. He slipped it out of its box when he heard the water shut off. The dramatic reveal wouldn't be needed now; as it was, her face shone with happiness when he showed it to her, rather sheepishly.

"I was planning on asking you for ages, I really was. I was just so nervous..."

"It's perfect, Josh."

"Isn't it? I know you were the one to propose so, I don't know, maybe I should wear it?" She giggled at that, the sound bubbling from her lips through the tears glistening in her eyes.

"I don't think it'll fit," she smiled with an amused eyebrow raised, holding her hand out anyway.

"I had it sized for you." He slipped it on, the tiny diamonds round the edge highlighting the sapphire, the glow from the overhead light making it sparkle gently. The sight of it on her finger made it a little more real - he was marrying her. Actually about to marry her, move in properly. Give her his last name, or he was more than happy to take hers.

"I didn't wound your masculine pride too much by proposing to you in front of your workmates, looking like a tornado hit me?" She was teasing, as only Rachel would while receiving an engagement ring. 

"No. They were more insulted than I was, I think - I, for one, love you all the more for it."

Rachel admired it for a second before throwing her arms round his neck, the kiss quickly growing heated as his hands roamed her back, running along her spine and slipping dangerously low before sweeping up, about to back her into the nearest wall when a knock at the door interrupted them.

"We'll continue this later," she whispered huskily into his ear, and his heart skipped a beat at the promise as she swung her hips on the way to the door.

"Forgot my key," Teresa admitted bashfully as she came in with the washing, already ironed with the iron someone left in the laundry room years ago and which was never claimed. "I'll, just..." She nipped into her room and re-emerged a second later, empty-handed but hair pulled out of the loose bun at her nape.

"Champagne?" he offered, but Teresa shook her head.

"It's the middle of the day, Josh," Rachel reprimanded, but smilingly.

"It'll give it time to pass through your system before your shift tomorrow."

"You are incorrigible."

"I'm fine, thanks. I'll have an orange juice or something."

As Josh poured the drinks in the kitchen, he watched his fiancée and her roommate pore over the ring. He had eyes for only Rachel, how beautiful and radiant she looked, though she was only wearing jeans, slippers and a fluffy, oversized jumper that was big enough to tuck her knees into. She was sitting so right now against one of the couch arms, Teresa sitting with her legs under her on the middle seat but she moved over to let Josh sit next to Rachel when he came out with the drinks, curling up against the other arm.

"Congratulations, guys," she smiled at them. "I'm not great with words but...I hope you'll both be very happy."

"I hope so too," he replied, meeting Rachel's eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More flashbacks at the start.

**Teresa**

_"Morning, my angel," her mother greeted her with a mysterious smile, smoothing the unruly curls as the six-year-old rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Get dressed quickly, we are going out today."_

_"It's so early. Where are we going, Mama?"_

_"It's a surprise. And I promise you will like it."_

_She'd never eaten breakfast or gotten dressed so fast in her life. Pulling on her favourite Sleeping Beauty jacket and blue trousers she dragged a brush through her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. Cuddling her bear with a thumb in her mouth, she asked questions the whole drive, too excited to go back to sleep though it was very early in the morning. Neither her mama or papa let the secret out until about midday, when they reached the entrance gates with the massive, distinctive Disneyland sign above them. Teresa let out a loud, delighted squeal, clapping her little hands in joy._

_"See? I knew she'd love it," Mama whispered to Papa but she didn't hear them._

_It was an incredible day. The rides were amazing, her favourite being the water flume as they all got soaking wet. She also met Princess Aurora, Snow White and Minnie Mouse, and got their autographs and hugs from each of them once she'd dried off. Mickey lifted her onto his shoulders for a photo, her Mama smiling in the mouse's arms as Papa took the photo on his little Polaroid camera._

_By the end of the day she was falling asleep but still couldn't stop smiling. Hugging her new Disney Princesses T shirt close to her chest she tried to stay awake, but soon fell asleep, slumped over in the back seat._

_Teresa awoke to bright sunlight streaming through her window the next morning. Remembering the events of the day before she ran through to her parents' bedroom to hug them and thank them for her trip and her T shirt._

_But as soon as she got there, the whole room shifted, and suddenly she was eleven years older and standing beside a white hospital bed, surrounded by white curtains and white-decked nurses and doctors._

_"Time of death, 9:08, 24th March 1992."_

***

She woke up crying.

Fumbling in the darkness for her watch she saw from the glow-in-the-dark hands that it was gone two in the morning. She knew Josh had slept in Rachel's room that night, despite their attempts to hide that plan during the evening, and they wouldn't want to be disturbed by a broken flatmate.

After about half an hour of lying there, crying into her pillow and unable to sleep, hair sticking uncomfortably to her forehead and neck, she finally got up to get herself a drink. It was better than doing nothing so, stumbling out of bed and feeling her slow, unsteady way to the bathroom, she supported herself with a hand either side of the sink. She looked a mess. The short hairs framing her face stuck to her skin with sweat, salt tracks ran sideways across her nose and cheeks from lying down, her left cheek was crinkled with the imprint of her pillow and her eyes were red. She scooped water from the running tap and splashed her face with it, thinking it would help freshen her up as it usually did in the mornings, but all it did was send her reeling again.

***

_Her head was under freezing water, struggling to breathe, the dirty river water pressing at her nose and mouth and her every fibre fighting against her instinct to breathe in. This fight had been more vicious than most, as it was over turf instead of a random incident. She'd ducked and stabbed blindly at opponents twice her size, managing to draw blood more than once then spinning out of their way before they could retaliate, and a stronger member of her own gang would step in to take them on. Her few months in the gang had drastically improved her strength and agility, and though she was unhappy she'd felt a small sense of achievement every time she managed to wound without being wounded, then she'd sliced a muscular arm open. The leader of their opposition had fallen to his knees, but she'd paused for a split second too long. Two of his crones had gripped her arms and dragged her to the almost dry river nearby. Before she'd known it her head was submerged in the mere foot of water, the air knocked out of her by the cold of it._

_They'd let her up after a few minutes, gasping and spluttering, water running painfully out of her nose and dripping down her chest and neck as she flicked her hair ineffectually out of her face. The sharp edge of a knife had pressed into her back, though she'd had enough experience by then to tell that it was blunt, that hadn't reassured her in the slightest._

_"Kill me, and two more shall replace me," she growled out the mantra beaten into her, her voice raspy from the dirty, cold water. The knife pressed further into her skin and she felt the sickening sensation of blood beginning to flow. The only thought that went through her mind as they pushed her under again was that she was glad she'd worn a red shirt that day, so there would be no awkward questions when - if - she finally got home._

***

Teresa sat on the cold tiled floor, curled up in the corner to defend herself, shaking with fear and sobs as she came back to the present. She flung out wildly before seeing that it was Rachel holding her shoulders and gently reassuring her as she focussed on her surroundings, the images and sensations still flooding over her with every drip from her chin down the front of her pyjama top. Rachel carefully wiped her face dry with her flannel, and the images lessened in intensity as the physical reminder was eliminated. They didn't leave, but she was now able to start trying to control her breathing and bring it down to a healthier level. She clutched at Rachel's arm to anchor herself, tears soaking into a shirt vaguely recognisable to her upset mind as Josh's. The paramedic held her, not saying anything until she pulled back slightly.

"You ok to stand?"

Teresa nodded uncertainly, but let her help her up. Instead of putting her arm round her waist to support her, she guided her with hands on her shoulders, over to the couch where Josh was tucking a hot water bottle into a waiting blanket. Rachel tucked her up, and a few minutes later a warm mug was being eased into her shaking hands and a comforting arm firm, but not tight, around her shoulders. Now she had regained some control of her senses she was mortified at dragging her only friend out of bed in the middle of the night.

"I'm sorry," she managed to get out through her chattering teeth.

"It's ok, I promise." She expected to be asked whether it was a nightmare, but the question never came. Instead, they sat in silence, Teresa curled into her chest as she tried to dispel the chill in her body from the tiles, Josh in the kitchen, ready in case she needed anything else.

When the hot chocolate was finished and she'd finally thawed out, she still didn't move from Rachel's embrace. It was safe there, the steady heartbeat under her ear calming her down, the blankets a cocoon and the warmth almost making her forget about the scar in the middle of her back, tingling from the memory of its creation.

"Better?"

She nodded once, still unable to believe she wasn't a pain in everyone's ass.

"Sorry I dragged you both out of bed. Josh must hate me." Her teeth were still chattering a little as her anxiety levels slipped up again and a residual shiver ran down her spine.

"Absolutely not. Neither of us like that you have these episodes but we won't ever abandon you to endure one alone."

"I thought Josh didn't know?"

"He didn't, insofar as that I didn't mention it. I promise: you were just a girl looking for a place to live. He's helped survivors of things like this so he knows the symptoms. He suspected you had nightmares but didn't say anything until tonight, when we heard you sobbing in the bathroom."

Silence fell for a few more moments, then Rachel suggested bed. Teresa nodded, albeit unwillingly. Rachel helped her readjust the blanket so she could walk without too much heat escaping and helped her to her room, where another hot water bottle was lying halfway down, warming the sheets for her. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes as she slipped into the warm bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, but she swiped them away quickly.

"Say thank you to Josh for me, please," she whispered, timid but genuine.

"He won't need to hear it, but I will."

"Can you stay with me?" The request made her feel six years old, but her friend smiled and sat down on the mattress next to her.

"I'm right here. Get some sleep, ok?"

"Ok."

Her 'episode', as Rachel called it, had tired her out and she was asleep within ten minutes, unlike the hours she'd spent lying awake in the months following hospitalisation and coming to live with Rachel.

**Rachel**

When Teresa was asleep, Rachel got up and left the room as quietly as she could, leaving the door ajar just in case. Josh was clearing up, taking a long time to fold up the blankets and put away the hot water bottles in order to waste time but he dropped everything and pulled her into a hug when she emerged. She exhaled deeply into his chest, closing her eyes when he pressed a kiss into her hair, taking comfort in his arms enveloping her. She could have coped without him tonight, but it was nice to not be alone. She loved Teresa, she really did, and she knew it wasn't her fault she suffered flashbacks, but it was difficult sometimes.

"You ok?" he murmured eventually.

"I will be," she sighed. "Thanks for helping with this."

"I would be the worst person, let alone friend or fiancé, in the world if I didn't. I hadn't realised it was so bad."

"You have no idea." She slumped further against him, so he guided her over to the couch and wrapped them up together in the folded blanket lying over the back.

"So...where _did_ you two meet? How did you come to live together?"

"That's...not my secret to tell, Josh. I can tell you the bare outlines but I won't tell you what she's endured until she's ready."

"That's ok. You have your secrets; God knows I have mine and Teresa's entitled to hers."

Rachel snuggled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder, her heart swelling with love for him even as she tried to outline her history with Teresa without giving too much away.

"Max and I responded to a 911 call at the beginning of January. We took her to hospital, but she seemed to trust me more than the doctors. I still can't fathom why, but there it is. We talked, she healed. Physically, at least. She had nowhere to go when she was discharged so I offered her a bed instead of turning her over to Social Services.

"I was worried she'd...hurt herself. That was the first thing I checked for after the ABCs," she admitted, swallowing back an unbidden lump at the thought. She felt Josh shift beside her and turned her head to meet his eyes.

"But she didn't. She's...definitely not _fine_ , but she will be. In time."

"But will she be happy? That's what I wonder. I believe in her, that she can get better. I really do. I just hope her trust hasn't been completely ruined, that she will learn to be able to trust and put her faith in people without them having to be friends of mine first. I don't want her to alienate people because she doesn't feel she can trust anyone, and end up alone. I don't want that for her."

"Neither do I, but you should still give her time. She's only, what, eighteen?" Rachel nodded. "She's got time. We were lucky that we found each other early; you were twenty one, I was twenty three when we went on our first date. That's young, Rach! We've had all this time together. You were a very trusting young woman, despite having had a few, well, stormy relationships..."

"Ugh, don't remind me!" she protested, slapping him playfully. "I was way too trusting back then."

"Hey, if it led us to this," he took her left hand in his, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the ring she wore, "I'm not complaining one bit."

"Then neither am I," she admitted, meeting him halfway. She hummed happily into his mouth as his tongue lightly skimmed over the outline of her lips, but pulled away before it could get heated.

"Stop distracting me."

"I could say the same to you," he chuckled, brushing their noses. "But seriously? Teresa needs to take her time trusting again. She needs to learn on her own, not have it pushed on her. She needs to meet someone new, someone no one she knows has ever met, and befriend them on her own. That'll be the first step, I think."

"You know, I think she might be starting to do that already. She mentioned a girl, she goes to the same church. Annabelle, her name is, or something like that... I think she invited her over for a sleepover tomorrow night but it's the night before her shift so she declined. Came to me because she felt so awful about it. I tried to get her to call and say yes for another time but I think she was nervous about going back and saying yes, instead of having said so at the time. The excuse was she didn't know her number."

"That makes perfect sense. We need to not mollycoddle her though."

"I know. It's difficult though, knowing what she's been through, having brought her out of so many panic attacks - it feels like she's fifteen instead of eighteen. She's had to grow up a lot but she's still so naive? I don't really know how that happens." Her sigh morphed into a wide yawn, and Josh smiled against her hair.

"Let's get back to bed."

"Yeah," Rachel mumbled absent-mindedly into his chest as he picked her up and carried her, bridal-style, into her bedroom, setting her on the bed gently and turning the lights out before climbing in beside her, taking her in his arms.

***

The day of Teresa's trial shift, Rachel wasn't working so was able to help her get ready and encourage her through the nervous attack she had half an hour before she was due to get there.

"I can't do this, Rachel!"

"You don't know until you try," she called from a last-minute search for her warm hat, which she hadn't had a chance to wear in a while and as such it had gotten lost in the haphazard pile of outdoor wear in the dedicated cupboard.

"But what if I'm so awful at it that everyone laughs at me?"

"I would hope that - dammit, where _is_ that stupid thing - they'd be professional enough _not_ to laugh at you. You don't really want to be working with people who don't - ouch - respect you, anyway." She rubbed her head where she'd bumped it on the top of the low cupboard and only succeeded in bumping her knuckles too, the band of her ring cutting briefly but painfully into her finger. She glanced fondly at it before the frustration kicked in again. It was her day off, dammit, she was never up before ten on her day off and with only one cup of coffee, she was feeling the sluggishness already. More caffeine was needed once she dropped Teresa off. Then she would just crash on the couch with a book. The book would end up acting as a sleep mask but who cared about semantics this early in the morning?

"What if I don't get the job?"

"Well, then you'll just have to come work with me." That suggestion was met with silence, and Rachel crawled backwards out of the cupboard to see Teresa raising an eyebrow at her. "Ok, maybe not with me. Definitely did _not_ think that one through. Aha! Found it!" Triumphantly, she emerged with the rogue hat and pulled it firmly down onto her head, finishing the job her plait started of hiding her bedhead. "I don't know, some sort of admin-type job at Josh's office? We'll find you something, don't worry."

Teresa didn't look convinced, standing there in the living room, wringing her gloved hands together. Rachel crossed the floor to her, slipping slightly in her socks, and put her hand on her forearm.

"I promise. Even if it's restocking ambulances or sorting files, we'll find you something. It doesn't have to be permanent right now."

She nodded, a little more sure than before.

"Are you sure we need to be there so early?"

"Absolutely," Rachel replied, finding a jacket and tugging on boots. The irony that Teresa was the one ready to go was not lost on her. "Always arrive ten minutes early for a job interview, at least. Golden rule. Gives a good first impression - willing and able to keep time. So it is vital we get there in...oh! Ten minutes. Where are my keys?"

"Here."

In ten minutes they were, rather more by luck than judgement, walking in through the doors of the grocery shop. Mark was talking to an employee, who came over with him and was introduced as Maria, the assistant whom Teresa would be helping that day. Rachel felt her stiffen, so turned to her with a bright smile and a comforting hand on her arm.

"Are you ok?" She asked it in a more general tone, but Teresa got the subtext and nodded, swallowing. 

"It seems we must congratulate you," Mark smiled, gesturing to her hand.

"Oh! Yes. Thank you." To her great relief, there was no fawning over the ring, no requests for details of the proposal, so she turned back to Teresa. "Shall I leave you to it, then? I have to grab a few things first."

"Ok."

"I'll see you later then. What time do you finish?"

"One, I think?" She looked to the manager for confirmation and he nodded.

"Ok. I'll see you then."

Rachel picked up the groceries she needed and headed out. Josh was at work, and she didn't want to disturb another of his working days so she bought herself a very hot, very strong coffee and headed back to the apartment, intent on following through with her plan on crashing with a book until she had to take her turn looking after Molly Prince for the day.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall we just assume there's going to be a flashback?

**Rachel**

She got home early from Molly's, her carer having returned a good two hours before he was meant to. She wouldn't complain though, and he didn't offer an explanation, sidestepping her question with some skill, so she'd just gathered her stuff and left. Teresa was reading a book when she got in; a shirt and a pair of trousers hung over the couch arm.

"How did it go?"

"Good, I think...I got the job."

"Teresa! That's fantastic!"

"It's part time, they've given me shifts for a week at the moment, and they gave me a uniform. I start tomorrow, the one o'clock shift. I will need a bank account though."

"We can set one up for you easily. We'll go in to the branch this week, sometime you're not working." The change in Teresa's face was remarkable. She had an excited shine to her eyes, which kept flicking to the uniform lying waiting to be ironed as if she couldn't quite believe she had a job.

"Rachel? I think I might call Annabelle back and say I can come over tonight, if that's ok?"

"Yeah, that's more than ok." She wanted to just pull her friend into a hug and congratulate her but she didn't want to cause a regression, so she settled for a hand squeeze. "You do know her number then?"

"Yeah, she gave it to me last week," Teresa explained sheepishly as she dialled, ducking her head so she didn't see Rachel's humorous shake of the head.

"Hello, Clarke household?"

"Annabelle? I'd like to accept that sleepover offer, if it's still open."

"Hey, Teresa! Sure! Mum's out tonight, do you want to come over at about seven? We can watch movies, there's loads of food in the house and a spare bed. All you need is pyjamas and wash bag."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Ok. See ya later!"

"Bye."

She paused before putting the phone back on the receiver with a rush of breath, plucking up the courage to ask Rachel the question she'd been thinking about for a while.

"Rachel...how easy is it to get first aid training?"

"Well, for you it's incredibly easy because I can teach you, plus I'm qualified to sign the paperwork. We can do it around shifts and I can nab a mannequin from the training centre at work."

"You'd really do that?"

"Sure. Why would I want to stop anyone learning how to potentially save someone if an ambulance can't get there?"

Teresa shrugged.

"You get ready for your sleepover - don't forget your work clothes - and I'll make a call and we can start straight away."

Ten minutes later they were running through what to do when one comes across an injured person or a potentially dangerous situation, what to say to the 911 operator, what to look for and when to move or not move. Teresa found she was picking it up quite quickly, eyes scanning photos and picking out things even Rachel missed.

"In my defence it's been a while since I taught a course," she humphed good-naturedly when Teresa pointed out a fairly obvious danger in a car crash photo. "I think we can tick you off on this when I get the paperwork later. This is brilliant."

Teresa felt her face grow hot and looked down at her lap.

"You should probably be getting going if you want to be spending a decent amount of time with your friend. Do you want me to drive all the way there?"

"No, it's fine. I'll walk from the church."

"Are you sure? It looks like rain."

Teresa glanced at the darkening clouds and shrugged before pulling a hoodie over her head and making sure she had her key.

**Annabelle**

Annabelle put the phone down after Teresa's call and squealed in delight, before rushing round and checking that the fold-up bed in her room was set up and made, food, movies, makeup gathered and laid out in relative tidiness on the floor after she'd shoved all the junk under her bed. She always underestimated how long it took to prepare for a sleepover, especially when her neat-as-a-pin mother was out.

Teresa showed up five minutes before seven, soaking wet and bedraggled from a sudden shower that had started ten minutes before, hugging her rucksack underneath her waterproof.

"Why didn't you just bring an umbrella?" she asked as she let her in and tried not to bound too excitedly up the stairs ahead of her.

"I don't find they do anything to help, especially when you're running. How are you?"

"I'm good, everything's ready upstairs. Movies, food, a bed - you know, the most important thing. I was going to give you a makeover, I never see you wearing any and you're so pretty, but you could be stunning with the right application and hair. Here's the bathroom, that door's Mom's room, even I'm not allowed in there..."

"Oh."

"Movies and food first though!" She flopped backwards onto her bed, revelling in the many cushions and rare lack of rubbish. "Or did you want a shower?"

"Is that all right? I'd rather not get your bed wet."

"Sure. Turn left out of here, it's just down the hall."

While she was gone Annabelle nibbled through a packet of crisps and absent-mindedly ran her fingers over the bottles of nail polish and make up, preparing herself for at least half an hour of dead time and considering putting on an episode of something or a cassette to fill the silence. Only ten minutes later she was surprised when Teresa came back in in her pyjamas, towel wrapped around her shoulders and clothes in a bundle.

"That was quick!"

"Not particularly?"

"I take _forever_ in the shower."

"Can I put these somewhere to dry?"

"Sure. On the radiator. I think it's on. I hope it is or we'll freeze tonight. Now, what film would you like to watch?"

"I don't mind," she replied, sitting down carefully on the fold-up bed.

"Oi. Come over here. You won't be able to see the TV from there!"

Teresa seemed really reluctant, and even when she finally managed to persuade her to move across she kept a good distance between them. She just shrugged it off though, instead spreading out a range of video cassettes in front of her.

"Which one?"

"You pick. I don't know any."

"You don't know _any_? Teresa, have you been living under a rock?"

"Pretty much. I never really had time for watching movies."

"What the heck did you do with your childhood if you didn't watch movies?"

"I watched a few when I was really young, Disney films mostly. But I mainly played outside, helped my parents..."

"Wow, model daughter or what! You're every parent's dream!"

"No, I..."

"Course you are. You're pretty, hardworking, helpful...you're making me feel awful now."

"Really." She didn't sound convinced.

"Well, not _awful_ as such _,_ just bad. My mother's still so annoyed that I haven't moved out yet but I really don't see the point!"

"Would you ever move cities? Just suddenly move to LA or something?"

"Ooh, I've been thinking about that a lot recently. I'd love to go to LA, I've never been out of San Fran. And while I do like it here, I want some adventure. I want to live the American dream, you know?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"Have you ever been anywhere exciting?"

"Not really."

"But I'd miss the hairdressers I work with. Every single one of them is a sight for sore eyes, it's ridiculous. Men _and_ women, I wouldn't say no, you know?" She nudged her suggestively, very gently she thought as she struggled to hide her surprise and confusion when the other girl flinched away.

"Come _on_ , Teresa, don't tell me you're immune to those fine works of art?"

"I've never actually seen your colleagues so I wouldn't know."

"...Oh yeah. When you need a haircut, tell me and I'll get you a booking with Adam. He's an actual wizard, I swear. And you'll get the chance to see them - phew! _Especially_ Adam. You are gonna wanna stick around, sister. Hungry?"

"A little."

"Here." She handed her a massive bowl of popcorn she'd made just before she arrived. "Dig in." She slid off the bed to push a random video into the player, then pressed play. Credits rolled on the screen in front of them.

"Oh, dammit. Didn't rewind." She pressed the buttons on the VCR automatically, the pause-stop-rewind routine muscle memory by the time she was eight, and the tape whirred as it spun backwards.

"So. Learned to drive yet?" She sat back on her haunches and snagged a handful of popcorn without looking as they waited for the whirring to slow.

"Not yet, as you can see by the bedraggled state I was in when I got here. Rachel dropped me off at the church but it started to rain as soon as she dropped me off. She'll probably teach me once I get into a routine at work. Oh! Did I tell you? I found a job today."

"Nice one! Where?"

"The grocery shop near our apartment. Part time. For now, they said."

"Nice. Oh, finally. I wonder if rewinding tapes will ever get any quicker." She pressed play and shuffled back onto the bed, bouncing excitedly as the opening credits of her favourite film began to roll. Teresa was silent, just watching the movie and it unnerved her. How could someone not comment on these amazing scenes?

"So. What do you want to be?" she piped up. This was girls' night, the place where the deepest of secrets were revealed. She may as well start by trying to draw her out of her shell a little - that was the whole reason she'd invited her in the first place. She was the outlier in their group of friends, the odd one out though they all liked her just fine.

"Excuse me?"

"What do you want to be? If you could have any job in the whole world, what would it be? And realistically, what do you see yourself doing?"

"Well, I...I don't know."

"Oookaayy." Annabelle didn't push it though - there were clearly a lot of walls there, and though she was used to sleepovers being where all secrets were told without fear of judgement, she suddenly realised that her new friend might not be.

**Teresa**

After the film (which she'd actually quite enjoyed, despite initial scepticism) and a lot of persuading she finally let Annabelle do her makeup. She didn't let her touch her hair though, and while the other girl seemed confused she didn't press it, just asked her to tie it back so she didn't get powder in it. As she sat there, perfectly still while the blonde blended and brushed, she couldn't help but laugh inwardly to herself at the absurdity of putting a full face of makeup on before bed. One good thing was that she realised she wasn't instinctively flinching away from the hand Annabelle laid on the side of her head to keep her still.

"There." Teresa blinked, eyes feeling a little dry and lashes sticking together slightly. "You're gorgeous! Look!" She held up a hand mirror for her to see herself in, and she had to admit, Annabelle had done a pretty good job. It wasn't too much, just enough to make her eyes look slightly more pronounced and her lips redder and fuller, her face more defined.

"I guess I don't look too bad..."

"Are you kidding me? You're stunning! _I_ want to look like you. Please don't tell me you're still single."

"I'm...not still single?" The negative confused her. Too many years of barely talking to her peers had resulted in her being a little behind on the communication development, and so the finer idiosyncrasies of language sometimes escaped her.

"How?!"

"I guess I haven't met anyone." Eager to turn the conversation away from herself, she retaliated with a similar question. "Apart from Adam the Hairdressing Wizard, do you have anyone?"

Conversation flowed much easier than Teresa would have expected: they stuck to mainly menial topics, more through her own strategic questions than the natural turn of the conversation, but she found she actually rather enjoyed herself. Being introduced to a whole load of new - and older - movies and TV shows she'd vaguely heard of but never seen; fighting Annabelle's wish to take a photo of her all dolled up (which ended in a Polaroid being taken and a pinky-promise it wouldn't be shown to anyone); eating popcorn until the small hours.

They finally went to bed at one thirty, and though Annabelle seemed determined to continue talking until the sun rose Teresa managed to fall right to sleep. A peaceful night, though, it was not.

***

_"Mama, I'm just going to go take the bins out, ok? I'll be five minutes."_

_"You're a good girl, my angel." She stroked her daughter's cheek lovingly, causing unwanted tears to well up. Teresa grabbed the full bin as she left, hastily tipping the rubbish from other rooms into a black bag as she went through the house. Hoiking it over her shoulder she made her way through the garden, which was now looking very sorry for itself, and out the front gate where the big bins stood waiting to be collected. Once she'd thrown the bag in and slammed it shut, she took a moment to lean on the gate, wipe her eyes and take a deep breath, clearing her lungs of the incense her mother liked to burn on Sundays in lieu of being able to go to church. She didn't think it did her any good at all but she indulged her, having lost faith in her strength to resist after the_ _incident_ _a year ago._

_Her rare moment of peace was interrupted by two all-too-familiar men suddenly grabbing her and whisking her round the corner down a little-used street, hidden from view by the hedges that surrounded her house._

_"What are you doing here?"_

_"You were meant to be with us."_

_"I'm sorry. My mother is ill, I have to look after her..." One of them harshly brought the back of his hand across her face. She would have fallen over from the force were she not being held against a wall; as it was, her head slammed back and whacked painfully against the rough stones. Yelping in surprise she put one hand to her cheek, the other to the back of her head to check for bleeding. Thankfully, it wasn't cut; just scraped._

_"Next time we'll make that look like a walk in the park."_

_"Hey!" One of the older girls ran up to them. "There's a situation back at HQ."_

_"We're not done with you, Ortiz." The men ran off as silently as they'd appeared._

_"Thanks," Teresa whispered._

_"No problem. I got your back, I know how difficult this is. Look, I gotta go. I think you're all right to go and take care of your mother. Just, be careful. Don't take too much time away from the gang or they will take this even more seriously. They don't do empty threats."_

_With that, she ran off, leaving Teresa with new bruises to add to the ones already littering her body in various shades of yellowish purple._

_Running back round the front of the house her heart sank when she saw her father's car parked in its usual spot. He was home early. Sprinting upstairs she saw him holding his wife in his arms as she coughed up blood into the bucket, his lips forming a prayer but when he looked up, she saw the betrayal in his eyes. Turning away she tried to focus on any colour other than red, and any feeling other than faint and dizzy laced with guilt._

_When her mother stopped coughing, had been persuaded to take some pain meds and fallen asleep, her father came to confront her._

_"Where were you?"_

_"Taking out the bins." She couldn't look him in the eye._

_"Look at me! Where were you?" He gripped her shoulders and she flinched._

_"Taking out the bins! It hadn't been done for over a week!"_

_"You were meant to be looking after your mother. I would have taken it out when I got back!"_

_"No you wouldn't! You would have sat there and held her for hours, making me loiter so I could fetch whatever she needed. It wouldn't have gotten done for at least another week!"_

_"You are out of line, young missy. You shouldn't have left her."_

_"How was I to know she would have a fit? I can't know everything about her condition, Dad. I'm only thirteen. I can't do this!" She wrenched herself out of his grip, turning away in a bout of emotion._ _Furious tears_ _stung the tender skin on her cheek._

_"I can't do this. Dad, can we please get a nurse? Or at least take her to hospital for a check-up?"_

_"No. No. I want your mother to have a normal life. Hospital is not a natural environment, and there is no one better to take care of someone than their own family."_

_"Coughing up blood and confined to bed for much of the day is_ not _normal! What would be more normal is having someone who knows how to take care of her! Then she might actually be able to go out and do things!"_

_"Her best friend is doing a better job than you at caring for her at the moment."_

_"I have homework due for last_ _Monday that I haven't done_ because _I was caring for her!"_

_"You should learn to manage your time better. Your mother did, when you were sick as a child she would work from home so she could look after you and still get everything done."_

_"I can't stay home from school, dad."_

_"You are such a disloyal daughter!" he yelled, making her cringe back. His voice dropped to one of forced control. "Your mother's happiness is the most important thing right now. Do you understand?"_

_"But what about me?" she half-sobbed, somehow managing to find the strength to look him in the face and defy him. "I can't cope with all this!"_

_"Then learn to!"_

_"Mama isn't going to make it much longer, I just know it. The doctors gave her a few years at most and I think she's getting worse."_

_"God has answered our prayers, hasn't He? It has been 'a few years' since she was diagnosed and she is still alive. By His Grace she will make it."_

_"No she won't."_

_"Yes, she will! Your doubt is what's making her worse. He is punishing her for your disbelief in the true faith. And He will punish her further if you do not devote your spare time to caring for your mother and praying for her. 'Honour thy father and mother', the fourth of Our Lord's Commandments. The one which you have broken tenfold in the last twenty minutes! You used to be such a good Catholic child. Go to your room, burn some incense and think about your actions, or there will be no dinner."_

_"But, Dad..."_

_"NOW!"_

_Teresa slunk past him and slipped into her room, closing the door quietly behind her for she knew he would start throwing curses at her if she slammed it. She hated when they argued, even more so when it was about her mother. It wasn't his fault; it was none of their faults. But she always seemed to get the flack because he was tiring himself out working double shifts, including Sundays, in order to pay for her treatment, and she was left looking after a sick mother, responsible for making her meals, cleaning up after her, general housework and somehow knowing when exactly she would have a coughing fit or be too ill to sit up, and prevent them. The stack of homework on her desk was piling up, as were the notes to her parents that she hadn't given them. Her room was her space so they were safe in the drawer now dedicated to them. If she put them in the bin her father would see them and be even more angry._

_Checking her face in the mirror she could see it was starting to bruise. Yet another excuse to come up with. She winced as she dabbed arnica cream over the swelling, tucking the tube back in its hiding place behind her_ _books, grimacing at the layer of dust gathering on the jackets_ _. Feeling around the back of her head she was relieved to see the scrape hadn't started bleeding, but was very sore whenever she touched it. She'd be sleeping on one side tonight._

_Taking a deep breath she turned on her cassette player very quietly, her favourite Disney songs soothing her headache though not giving her the hope they had done once upon a time. Sitting down at her desk she flipped the pile of books upside down and started on the work that had been due in a good week or so ago._

***

"Teresa! Teresa, wake up, please!"

"Get off me!" she shouted, impulsively wriggling away and curling up into a ball before she recognised her surroundings.

"Teresa?" Opening her eyes properly she saw Annabelle's hurt face as she backed away.

"Annabelle, I'm so sorry..." She ran a hand over her face to hide the fact that she was crying and tried to bring her breathing back down to normal as she threw the covers off and sat up. "It's not you. I'm so sorry..."

"You were crying and shouting for ages about homework and hospitals and your mother, and 'I can't cope'... You scared me, Teresa."

"I'm sorry." She ventured to bring her into a hug, knowing she would need it and to show she hadn't meant to shout at her, even if she couldn't explain. They both relaxed - Annabelle as she realised she didn't do anything really wrong and Teresa because there were now two people she was ok with full contact with, and that meant she was healing, if slowly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the blonde asked when they broke apart.

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

"It didn't sound like you were fine," she commented, still sniffing, but didn't pursue it much to Teresa's relief.

"Annabelle...it's a long story, ok?"

"Is this why you moved here?"

"...Yes. I'm sorry for waking you."

"It's ok. Are you sure you don't want to, I dunno, talk? About anything? Watch another movie? Or a TV episode?"

Teresa nodded and let herself get swept away in the TV of the day, and they watched an old episode of _Cheers_ from Annabelle's substantial video collection before falling asleep together on the big bed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Teresa**

"How was the sleepover?" Rachel asked when she picked Teresa up from work the following night. She'd gone straight there from Annabelle's after sleeping in late, and she wasn't sure she wanted to repeat the rush she'd found herself in, Annabelle lounging at the breakfast bar calling out assurances that Mark wouldn't mind not helping one bit.

"It was good actually. Watched some films, ate so much popcorn I'm slightly sick of it. She even did my makeup for some reason, though it was just before bed." She pulled the Polaroid Annabelle had taken from her bag, having snuck it off her dresser before she left. She liked the girl well enough but she didn't trust her not to try and 'boost her confidence', or worse, try and get her a date, by pulling it out in front of strangers.

"Wow. She's good. Perhaps she should have been a makeup artist."

"She's a hairdresser. I felt a little bad I wouldn't let her touch my hair. But I didn't flinch when she put her hand here to keep me steady."

"You're making good progress with this, Teresa. I'm proud of you."

"I had a nightmare though. About my mother, when I was thirteen." She took a deep breath before launching into a quick summary, feeling a small weight off her chest when she finished. "He then blamed me for being a bad Catholic daughter and not putting my mother above all else. 'Honour thy father and mother', you know."

"Yet you're now going to church every week."

"I know. It's funny how that happened. I guess it was my father's complete, unwavering faith in it, so much that he thought prayer and a miracle would help my mother recover and not a nurse or hospital check-ups, that stopped me from believing when I was younger. Also the priest at the church we went to was a prejudiced idiot, I realise now, and the one at the church now is more about morals than being all high-and-mighty."

"Why did the gang members hold you up?"

"They hadn't seen me in a while. Still hadn't quite mastered the whole juggling two lives aspect. One of the girls covered for me sometimes but I did have to start spending more time with them after that. I woke Annabelle. Apparently I was shouting." She turned her gaze out the window, the self-deprecation welling up, choking her.

"You do tend to do that when you're having a nightmare. Some people don't, but you do. And you have a pretty good set of lungs on you."

"I am so glad her mother was out. I think I scared the poor girl but she didn't ask any questions after I told her I didn't want to talk about it. How was work?"

"The usual. Fulfilling, fun. Crazy I think is the word to describe today, my partner is a right one but he's hilarious and he was in a particularly good mood today because he got engaged to his girlfriend last night."

"You've started a trend," Teresa joked. Rachel laughed, rubbing her thumb over her ring. "He ran another red light which was absolutely terrifying, for both me and the poor woman on the gurney. She wasn't critical enough to need to run a red light but we got to hospital in time without any repercussions so I can't really complain."

***

The next few weeks went much the same: work, church, the occasional meet-up with Annabelle and her friends. They were a decent group of girls, rather too interested in boys, makeup and whatever media gossip they could accrue (one of them had caught wind of a new TV show starting that September, with some apparently 'hot' guy called David something in the running for lead male, and he was all they talked about for a good two weeks), but she liked them all right and they respected any boundaries she asked for. She was still having nightmares, all flashbacks of times where she could have done better, and they only fuelled her growing ambition to do well.

She was walking home across the park one evening, having just left one of Annabelle's friends at her door, when something small but heavy collided with her legs.

"Ow!"

"I'm so sorry, miss!" a little girl panted. Teresa was about to met out a sharp remark about being aware of surroundings when she saw the girl had only a knitted cap on her bald head, and sympathy stirred. Bile also rose in her throat, her own childhood too recent for anything but painful associations.

"It's ok," she smiled as her mother came running up.

"I do apologise..."

"No, it's ok. Really."

"She didn't hurt you?"

"No, she's only little. It's fine, really. I wasn't concentrating. Good evening," she smiled again at the girl, nodded to the mother and went on her way. As she walked, she couldn't get that little girl out of her head. She looked about six, maybe seven. She might never get the chance to grow up, fall in love, get married, have a family. How close she herself had come to not having that chance either.

An idea came to her but she laughed it off, scoffing at herself for even imagining she could do such a thing.

That night, her mother appeared in her dream again but this time, it wasn't a flashback. It was like she was speaking from afar, telling her to do something but she couldn't quite hear what it was. Reaching out she tried to touch her but she was always just out of arm's length. She woke at a decent hour this time, still crying but they were tears of frustration more than the pain of reopened wounds.

She settled into a routine at work and found she was spending more and more time out of the apartment. Through conversations with customers at the till and colleagues in the break room she found a library, which had a couple of computers with Internet access, massive beanbags on the floor and a cool water dispenser. She'd usually spend her lunchtimes there, reading Les Misérables in English and wondering just how long the section on the Battle of Waterloo was, because there was almost no risk of being disturbed. She also found a little sandwich shop, a little clothing store with some quite nice things in the window, though she never went in, and stumbled upon Annabelle's hair salon when she went wandering a little too far after a morning shift. The girl had been almost comically horrified by her now customary low bun, telling her she looked like a soldier or policewoman, but she hadn't thought of another way to cover her tattoo besides makeup, and that seemed like too much effort and money for every day.

She also got to know certain customers. Little old ladies were glad of her willingness to run and fetch a stepladder for the top shelves; kids who'd lost their mums meekly took her hand while she took them to the till to wait for their parents to show up, the unspoken 'lost children' spot. It wasn't that big a store, but it had enough aisles to get confused by. Mark was pleased with her work and her speedy learning of the till and stock check systems, and was soon asking if she was available for extra shifts. She usually agreed to keep herself busy.

The only day she didn't was the anniversary of her father's death. She spent the day holed up in her room, unable to handle company and hating herself after yelling unnecessarily at Josh but trying not to remember all the times he'd ever shouted at her or put her down. Rachel and Josh gave up trying to tempt her out with distractions very quickly, but when the silence got suffocating and she opened the door to get a drink, she saw a pile of her favourite chocolate bars, some books and a Walkman with a Disney tape in it lying on the floor, causing her to tear up for the first time all day.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day started off fairly normal: Josh and Rachel made heart eyes at each other; her hair barely wanted to cooperate; the edge of her tattoo taunted her in the mirror and then Siena, one of Annabelle's friends, called with boy trouble. Why she hadn't called one of the others Teresa would never know, but that call almost made her late for her double shift. Then badly-stacked boxes tumbled on top of her in the stock room, she was pulled any which way by customers asking the most ludicrous questions, they were understaffed and over worked and by the time she was practically ordered to go on her break by the duty manager she was exhausted.

She flopped face first onto the sofa in the break room, letting out a groan when she remembered she needed to eat, though sleep would be preferable right now. However, before she could grab the Tupperware container of food Rachel had packed while she was held up on the phone, there was a commotion outside. Shouts of 'Help!' and 'Call 911! Quick!' had her rushing out to see a woman lying still on the ground in one of the aisles. The first aid training with Rachel was clearly paying off, for her eyes immediately scanned the area for possible causes of the collapse and other dangers while her brain recalled the ABCs, only just learned in the last few days. The DM was on the phone, most likely for an ambulance, and her colleagues were keeping inquisitive customers away from the scene. No one was trying to resuscitate the woman. Teresa pressed her fingers to her neck then held her ear over her mouth. No heartbeat, but she was breathing slightly. She immediately started compressions, pausing every fifteen to check for a pulse, and kept them up despite the shaking in her arms by the time the ambulance siren whined to a stop outside the store. She scrambled out of the way to let the paramedics take over and soon the woman's eyes opened.

When it was all over and the woman had been sent home shaken but fine, a dazed Teresa was led to the break room and clapped on the back by about five people at once. She was so out of it she didn't register any of what they were saying, but managed to answer that she was taking a first aid course before they were rushed back off to work. Mark gave her an extra half-hour's break, and it was only when she found a note with a healthy tip in a money bag in her locker at the end of the day that she knew that the woman she'd saved was in the running for mayor of San Francisco.

"How was work?" Rachel asked when she stumbled into the car at seven o'clock. "Imagine the front runner for mayor collapsing, must have been crazy!"

"Crazy doesn't even begin to cover it," she mumbled. She fell asleep before they'd left the car park.

The tip went into the wardrobe in her room, in a spare shoe box where she was saving all her loose change. It was quite delightfully heavy, and after supper she felt invigorated enough to try counting it.

"$127.89," she breathed. Though she was being paid a good wage it felt like a lot of money, right there in stacks at her feet. Feeling the need to have proof she ripped a page out of the notes section of the planner Rachel had given her for the job, dated the entry and signed it, feeling a little more like a responsible adult now the small change had grown into something.

That night, despite her exhaustion, she found herself wondering what to do with the hundred dollars in her wardrobe. Give it away to charity, or put it in the bank and earn interest for later? The voice of her father in her head was yelling at her to give it to those less fortunate than her, for after all she lived with a friend almost for free, she had a job and friends. Others had it worse. Yet she was so aware of what she'd come from that she was desperate to never end up back there, and the headstrong part of her that had still defied her father to the last weeks of her mother's life was whispering about potential and fulfilment, and the possibility of doing something more concrete than just donating money.

That led on to thinking about what had happened at the store. No matter that the woman was a popular politician here and so there was kudos for being the one to have kept her alive (or so the paramedics had said before they left), but saving someone's life felt good. Really good. Now she could try and understand the appeal of being a doctor or nurse or paramedic, surrounded by blood and death almost every day.

She dreamed of dark blue uniforms and cherry-red trucks, laughing with partners in the front seat and helping people, much like she'd been helped.

She woke with a start when she dreamed of someone kissing her in the back of an ambulance.

***

Weeks turned into months, wedding planning was soon underway and Teresa found herself left to her own devices more often while Rachel and Josh went to look at dresses and rings and venues and all sorts of things that completely passed her by. She was offered full time at work and even given some duty manager shifts, and more than once she caught some of her colleagues whispering behind her back that she must be sleeping with Mark for her to be getting such quick promotions.

As such, she became less content with what she had, less tolerating of the banal conversations her group of friends had. She called them her friends, and they returned the favour, but really there wasn't much in common between them and Teresa only hung out with them because she had no one else, plus they always seemed happy to see her and never talked behind her back as far as she knew. They had almost weekly sleepovers and trips but she found herself wishing for one or two good friends, even a best friend, with whom she could talk about classic literature (the section of which at the library she'd almost read through by now) and Africa and candid dreams for the future, or sit there in silence and say nothing at all but still not get bored of each other.

Summer came and went. Work became monotonous, home became lonely. The small seed of an ambition planted when she'd saved the now Mayor's life was growing bigger by the day, and soon she was taking out books on medical conditions and training herself to fight the nausea as she read them in every spare moment she got, and looking for courses in further first aid or, better yet, a paramedic training course that she could do around work. Josh headed back to Africa for another project and the apartment was even quieter. She'd forgotten how Rachel was when he wasn't around - there was still joking and laughing and teasing but not nearly as much.

One evening in September she was dragged over to Siena's house for the premiere of some TV show, and though she was reluctant initially she found herself caught up in the excitement of frantic milkshake preparing (the girls always said she made the best, so she had to make six or seven in the space of half an hour and finish before the first had been polished off) and jostling for the best view, all crowded on bean bags on the floor.

She had no idea what to expect. She'd wondered if she might get away with dozing off in the back but she hadn't counted on a small, pretty, auburn-haired woman to be the scientific one of the two leads. The ominous cloud of smoke rising from the armchair filled her with an excited chill, a surprisingly not unpleasant feeling as she found herself wondering just who the smoking man was.

 _"Nobody in here but the FBI's Most Unwanted."_ The weight behind that statement and the basement office, the alien posters on the walls and the young agent working at the desk, piqued her interest and she found herself leaning forwards on her beanbag, chin in her hands, eyes glued to the small screen.

_"Agent Mulder? I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you."_

The two agents shook hands, and she had to agree with the others about the tension between the leads (or 'explosive chemistry', as Annabelle described it) and the attractiveness of the lead male. It was a good episode, setting up all sorts of conspiracy, and Teresa found herself smiling helplessly into her hands at a scene in the rain, looking forward to the next episode before the final credits even rolled.

She wasn't the only one - everyone was silent for a good ten seconds after Siena turned off the television, then erupted into squeals and excitement. Teresa just listened contentedly, happy to fall asleep in the midst of their crazy theorising.

Her weeks had a certain end point to look forward to now. Every Friday they'd gather at one of their houses, pig out on food and watch The X Files. Theories would be shared before and after; Evie, an apprentice journalist who dabbled in fiction in her spare time, brought a written scenario of Mulder and Scully's hypothetical first kiss about five weeks in, blushing furiously while the others cooed over it. Teresa rolled her eyes as Siena and Annabelle overdramatised it as they read it aloud, but inside she was secretly hoping for something like that to happen between the two. Small and tall, believer and sceptic, rigid science and fierce religion. Their differences appealed to her, and as the season progressed she found herself imagining it between them. The workplace relationship, secret hand-holding, making use of the basement's privacy to kiss each other senseless.

That thought had her pulling a face at herself in the dark. Since when had kissing become something she wanted to watch two people do? Rachel and Josh she didn't mind because she knew them, but she always averted her eyes.

It went on hiatus half way through and the weeks in between suddenly produced a great amount of output from her friends. Drawings, stories and entire cassettes full of songs they felt applied to the two fictional characters that seemed to occupy their every thought. It kept her going, and the Friday night ritual still continued but instead of a new episode they drew up entire story plots, Teresa finding use in correcting the few of their medical discrepancies she could when they wrote Scully's autopsies, and scoured the Internet for like-minded fans. It also gave them something in common, something to include her in the conversation, and for once she felt like she belonged a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh. I wish I could say I had an interesting plot thought out for the time between now and her moving to LA to start lining up with the show but I don't. It's just her training and Rachel's wedding and The X Files, and I don't know enough about the first two to feel I can write them in an interesting way. So I might jump forward a few years, introduce some more Boomtown characters and maybe I'll write the interim years at some point and insert the chapters, maybe I'll just leave them to part imagination, part flashbacks.


	12. Chapter 12

"They've got places for paramedic training," Rachel greeted her one lazy Sunday morning as she padded into the kitchen, her hair sticking up any which way. "The course I was on," she supplied when Teresa looked blank. It took a moment for the information to sink in.

"Oh."

"You still want to be a paramedic?"

"I'd like to do something other than stock groceries for the rest of my life," she responded groggily, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and almost wishing she liked coffee. "Paramedic seems as worthwhile a profession as any."

"I hate to remind you of this but it's not that long since you were lying near to death in an alleyway." The betrayal of the unspoken agreement to not speak of it hurt, more than she'd care to admit. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"I..." Her hand paused, cereal box in mid-air, realising Rachel was only trying to help her. "I think I've been ready to leave my past behind me for a long time. Even before I escaped. After they died I wanted to let everything go and move away, but you know, things happened. I thought about becoming a cancer home-care nurse, even an oncologist at one point." She laughed derisively at herself. "My mother was all but refused a nurse by my father," she explained, and Rachel nodded in understanding. Teresa sighed. "Give me a day and I'll think about it?"

"That's a wise choice. In the meantime I think it might be a good idea to get the credit to graduate. I know you're a few years late but having it will do your resume a world of good, no matter which profession you choose. There's evening classes in the centre of town..."

The day was spent poring over newspapers and choosing subjects, both reminiscing over favourite teachers, and in the meantime Teresa thought about what she wanted. She found herself thinking about Scully and the prejudice she'd likely faced to be a woman in medicine, she thought about the good one could do with medical training, the fact that she was already almost at the top of the very short ladder at work. They dashed to the library after lunch to do some research on paramedic courses, writing down pros and cons of each place of study. The more she knew, the more the hard work seemed worth it. A year of basic training didn't seem much, though she knew the hospital and field hours would be taxing and she'd probably have to take classwork home, but when she woke the next morning she was decided.

"When do applications close?" she blurted out as soon as she saw Rachel at the table.

"February. You'll have your first aid by then, I'll make sure of it."

"I think I want to do the Associate of Science Degree as well."

"You need to get EMT-Basic and six months' field experience before that. Let's get you through the basic training and then think about associate degrees. It's not that I don't believe you can do it," she amended when her friend's face fell. "It's fees, it's the toll it can take on you, it could just be it's not for you. One step at a time, ok?"

"Ok."

"That doesn't mean you can't apply for courses though."

"It'll give me something to work towards," she mused out loud, before shovelling down her breakfast and getting ready to go to work.

By the time the closing date rolled round, Teresa had passed her first aid with flying colours and sent in her application along with references from Mark and Rachel. The months of waiting seemed interminable. She kept busy at work and with random wedding consulting. The number of dresses and shoes and veils the bride-to-be turned down was starting to get ridiculous and Teresa was losing count of the number of times she'd tried to steer Rachel back round to the one she'd thought was perfect.

"Why don't you just ask Josh when he gets back?" was the fatal question to ask, and she was subjected to a stressed rant about how it's bad luck before she gently walked her friend to her bedroom and shut the door firmly, revelling in the sudden quiet.

Too wired to sleep she turned on the television, immediately recognising the thirteenth episode of The X Files. It had left everyone speechless, it was so good, and she was now a firm fan of the actress who portrayed Scully. Curling up with a pillow she lost herself in the episode, and went to bed half an hour later with it still running around her brain.

The next day of all days she got a letter with an official-looking stamp in the corner from the City College of San Francisco. It was a Sunday, Rachel was still asleep so she ended up sitting at the kitchen table for a good five minutes, plucking up the will to open it.

"This is ridiculous," she said out loud, exasperated at herself.

"What's ridiculous?" a sleepy voice mumbled from behind her.

Teresa held up the letter.

"Oh, don't worry. It took me three days to open it. Do you want me to do it?"

"No, no, I'm fine..." On the count of three she ripped the flap open with her nail and unfolded the crisp paper.

"Well?"

"I got in." She looked up, smile so wide it hurt, grabbing Rachel's hands and squeezing hard.

"I've two years of this, then another two years for the degree, then the paramedic licence," Teresa soon said. "But there's no way I'm not celebrating this."

They ate out that evening, at a small diner Rachel recommended, a fairly tame affair as celebrations go, but Teresa had fun. She was proud of herself, looking forward to the change in activity and mental challenge her job lacked.

Josh's postcards soon started to arrive, but if the way Rachel threw herself into her wedding planning and work was any indication she still missed him much more than she was letting on to Teresa. She started being dragged along to venues and writing pro/con lists to send Josh with the regular letters, as well as the dress advising, and with the final stages of her evening courses in order to graduate, she was almost always busy. She always found the time to go to the weekly Friday night gatherings when The X Files came back on air though, and she made good use of her new library card, devouring all the books she hadn't had a chance to read and more.

High school grades finally in the bag three years late she got her term dates through: two weeks' time and she was to be in the classroom doing basic training. The tutor had pulled some strings to get Teresa starting in this semester instead of the next one, though she'd be starting late she wasn't too worried.

She asked Madeline where she'd learned to drive and booked herself a course of driving lessons, managing to surprise Rachel when she headed out for the first one. She progressed quickly, the most difficult bit she found being the reverse bay park, and seeing their faces when she rolled up to Annabelle's house on Friday evening in the driver's seat was more fun than she'd had in a while, especially when they gave her first dibs at the popcorn.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: University is kicking my backside in terms of time and levels of energy. Also I recently opened a Ko-Fi account (http://ko-fi.com/A347E4R). This is in no way compulsory, but if you do feel you want to 'buy me a coffee' I would much appreciate the support.

"Right, you're the first responder at a scene. What's your first action?"

"Call 911!" some idiot in the middle to back of the classroom shouted and the entire class groaned. It had been a long day already, what with physical training, practising driving the red trucks with another student 'operating' on a dummy in the back, designed to help them a) keep the truck steady at speed and b) operate in a moving vehicle, and now the theoretical class which Teresa always found the hardest to get through, especially at the end of the day. At least she didn't have a shift to go to.

"You _are_ 911!" the professor gritted out, his own patience worn thin too. It had only been a couple of weeks but they should all be able to answer that question easily. The boy, only eighteen, looked sheepish and bent to write in his pad. Teresa stuck her hand up in sympathy from the back row. "Ortiz."

"Assess the scene for dangers to yourself or the patient." It was a fairly simple version of the answer but she didn't have the energy to describe the entire process of analysing, finding the most critical patient and responding to curious onlookers, all of which was meant to take less than ten seconds as an EMT ran from the van to the scene.

"Thank you. Now, I know it's been a long day but I want you all to get into groups of three and find all the hazards in these photos. You'll have five minutes per photo to write them down and then we'll swap them over. Group with the most correct hazards at the end gets chocolate."

Teresa had a feeling the rest of the chocolate would be consumed by the professor after lessons as he marked their work from the previous class. She half-smiled, half-grimaced at him as he handed her a photo and he shrugged minutely, getting her gist. She stood, hesitating as she saw everyone already in groups. A quick headcount showed her a group with only two, and so she made her way over, not missing the look that passed between them.

"We've got our group."

"It's groups of three."

"We've got our group," the girl insisted, leaning her arm protectively across the spare chair. It was juvenile, really, but instead of letting them win she pulled out the chair.

"I have a photo and there aren't enough for an extra group. I can see five straight off, you?" The girls automatically pored over it while Teresa wrote down the ones she could see, folding her hands over the half-page of neat script until they turned to her.

"Four..."

"I've only got three!"

"Look at the boxes in the truck."

"...They're not stacked very efficiently."

The other girl continued to search the photo for the elusive fifth hazard, but then the timer on the professor's desk went off, signalling the end of the first five minutes.

"Swap photos clockwise," came the tired order, and the students duly swapped and bent their heads. By the time half an hour had come round everyone was all but asleep, but Teresa fought through the exhaustion and the need for food and rest to win the competition for her group, sharing the chocolate even though the other girls tried to get her to have it.

"I'm Gina," the one who'd tried to stop her joining them held her hand out as they walked out.

"Lillie. What was that other hazard in the first one?"

"The truck itself. It's difficult to see past it as its doors are open and it's a relatively narrow road. I'm Teresa, by the way." She shook their hands in turn, they thanked her for the chocolate and she went out to the parking lot to find Rachel in her car twisting her engagement ring round her finger.

"What's up?"

"Josh has been transferred to Rwanda."

Teresa didn't reply. She'd read about the Hutu and Tutsi conflict in the papers, and she didn't know what to say to comfort her friend so she put a hand on her arm.

"I thought they'd agreed a ceasefire?"

"You're right. I'm just worrying unnecessarily." She threw the car into gear with more force than strictly necessary and Teresa found herself clinging to the seat as she rounded corners a little too fast for comfort.

Months passed and the Easter break rolled around quickly. Training became intense, harder to balance with the store, where she was now working on a part-time basis; The X Files heated up as the season rolled round to a close and her friends started to get irritated that she wasn't interested in theorising where it would go when an episode finished, instead falling right to sleep and leaving the house usually before any of them were awake, with an apology to the parents as she slipped out for an early shift before school. One particularly long day, with a split shift and class in between, had her succumbing to the smell of coffee in the break room. It was bitter and horrible but it woke her up enough to get through her second shift of the day, though the energy crash when she got home almost wasn't worth it.

Lillie and Gina soon introduced her to other people, and she became adept at blending in with whomever she was talking to. They also provided a refreshing change from the constant boy-talk of her other friends. They both had boyfriends but didn't go on about them, and their conversations mainly revolved around the course and what they hoped to do once they graduated. For Gina it was an interest, something to keep her occupied, as opposed to a career; Lillie hoped to go on and become a midwife but she hadn't achieved the necessary grades in high school so she was trying a different route in.

A couple of days before the Easter break began Teresa got back from a Saturday class to find Rachel sitting on the sofa with a newspaper clutched in her hands. She was gripping it so hard the paper had rumpled around her fists and the tendons in her hands were visible through the skin. She was white as death.

"Rachel?" she asked tentatively. The silence was thick.

"'Key Tutsi and moderate Hutu leaders, both political and military, have been executed following the plane crash killing Cyprien Ntaryamira the day before yesterday. Sources say these killings are to prevent Tutsi leaders from assuming power...'" Rachel read off in a dead voice. She must have read it so often she knew it off by heart, and Teresa was gripped by a sudden fear. Josh was in Rwanda, helping rebuild villages affected by the previous fighting. Right in the thick of it.

She made a cup of tea and found a blanket, draping it over Rachel's shoulders in the hope it would defrost her a bit. It surprised her when the older woman turned into her shoulder and wrapped her arms round her waist, breaking down into tears on her chest. Teresa rested her cheek on top of her head, rubbing up and down her back, praying silently that Josh would be ok and Rachel would be able to handle not knowing.

Maybe half an hour later, Rachel sat up and took the tissue Teresa'd grabbed preemptively off the coffee table. Her eyes were red and puffy, and some of the light in her expression had dimmed. She gave Teresa a watery smile, wrapped the blanket around herself and walked to her room, the implication loud and clear to leave her alone. Teresa threw a ready meal in the microwave, making sure to open the door before the beep went off, ate in silence then prepared for her afternoon shift, setting out another one to defrost for if and when Rachel decided she was hungry. If she didn't eat it, Teresa would that evening. She felt bad about leaving her alone in an empty house but one of them had to keep going and for so long that had been Rachel. Now it was her turn.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://ko-fi.com/A347E4R This is something I started recently; basically if anyone appreciates my fics, please feel free to "buy me a coffee" by copy-and-pasting the link into your browser. Anything you do give will go towards my rent as my gap year savings are dwindling far too fast for comfort. Any generosity is greatly appreciated and if you'd like a chapter dedication or a one shot prompt filled in return, I'm more than happy to do that for you :)

It only took one night's sleep for Rachel to resolve to carry on, whatever was happening in Rwanda. Teresa offered to be the adult for a bit but she gave a deep sigh, looked her in the eye and said in the firmest voice she'd heard use,

"I'll be fine."

Teresa could tell she was still trying to convince herself as they both wolfed down toast and rushed out the door to their respective shifts.

Every single day saw them engaged in tentatively urgent checking of the papers for news. If Rachel was at work Teresa checked for her, the unspoken deal agreed between them the first time she had to stop her buying a copy of every single paper at the newsstand outside the post office. The genocide spread alarmingly quickly throughout the country. Whites married to blacks were evacuated but their partners were forced to stay behind.

The only relief in those tortuous weeks was a very short, very crumpled note from Josh that had been stuffed in with the rest of the mail, simply saying,

R,

When I wrote this I was in a school complex in the south that's being used as a refuge. I'm ok - others aren't so lucky so I'm staying behind to help as much as I can. I'll try and send another note if I'm able but I can't promise. Please, don't worry too much about me. We're getting married, remember?

Keep smiling, say hi to T. I love you.

J x

10 April

Teresa drew her into a hug, tears welling up in her own eyes at being thought of in such a time. Rachel kept rereading the letter through her tears, her fingertips tracing his words, the date at the bottom which told them it had taken a month for it to reach them, if he'd managed to smuggle it out straight away. She started to say, "At least he was all right," but realised just in time that it probably wasn't the most comforting thing, and she couldn't think of anything that would suffice right now.

As the genocide continued she could see Rachel becoming more and more drawn into herself, living day-to-day. Every day became more of a struggle but Teresa bore it, remembering how she'd helped her through her own pain, and did everything she could to be there. Eventually she stopped buying the papers. Lack of news in the south generally, and not knowing where Josh had been when he wrote the note, had both women losing the will to keep scouring the papers for anything that could possibly relate to the area he was in.

"He might not even be in the area any more," Rachel reasoned when death tolls in the south were finally reported. "He could be out of the country by now."

Silence fell between them. Both knew that was unlikely, given Josh's desire to alleviate the suffering in the Third World.

***

News of quelling of the killings in some provinces started to come in during May, and the official reporting of the end of the genocide came on a blisteringly hot day in July. Teresa's uniform was sticking to her when she ran into Rachel in the parking lot, having expected to walk home. She pulled her friend into a hug, knowing as soon as she saw her face that she'd seen the news.

"Max showed the paper to me just now."

"I heard over the radio. How are you holding up?"

"I don't know."

Teresa held her closer, ignoring the stickiness sliding down her spine and breastbone from the heat.

That evening they made a tentative toast to Josh's safe return, though neither knew when that would be. Rachel confirmed out loud what Teresa already knew: philanthropist that he was, he'd stay long after the fact to help bury the dead and rebuild their lives after the tragedy that had befallen them.

It was well into autumn by the time they heard anything. Teresa was collecting the mail from the lobby, picking up their elderly next-door neighbours' too as was her habit, when she spotted a grubby-looking scrap that looked like it had been sealed with some sort of gum. Heart pounding, she'd run up the stairs two at a time. Hopping from foot to foot as she waited for the Jones' to open the door she could barely wait to end the pleasant conversation they liked to have with the friendly young girl who'd just appeared one day in their building. They'd never questioned where she came from, and they took an interest in her studies. Too much of an interest today, she found herself thinking before shoving the nasty thought back in her mind, mockingly herself with three Hail Marys.

"And how's young Rachel doing? Heard from that lad she was to marry?"

"There's a letter from him here, actually..."

"Well, best get it to her then!" The old woman winked, not unkindly, and before she knew what was happening Teresa was staring at a closed door. Bounding back to her own apartment she held the letter out to Rachel with trembling fingers. She took it with equally shaky hands, and her eyes scanned the note for what seemed an eternity.

"What does it say?" Teresa asked when her curiosity and fear finally got the better of her.

"'Rachel, I am almost bound for home. Please don't fear for me: I haven't suffered nearly as much as these poor people have and I could never forgive myself if I didn't stay on to help them. I promise you, I will be with you before autumn is through and then we will get married. As soon as possible, we shall be married, that is if you still want me. All my love, Josh.' God, I do hope nothing too drastic happened!"

Teresa had been thinking the same thing. The whole tone of the note suggested he wouldn't be the same when he got back, and as the two women got supper on the go the question hung in the air between them, like the genocide had while it was going on like a constant stormy cloud threatening to erupt.

A mere two weeks later Teresa was woken by a frantic knocking on the door. Chancing a sleepy look at her watch she saw with a grimace that it was before five in the morning. She was about to bury her head in the blankets and let Rachel answer it when she remembered the other woman was on shift. The knock came again and her training kicked in, her brain suddenly firing on all cylinders though her body screamed protest as she dragged herself out of her cosy bed.

She opened the door with her eyes closed as she rubbed the sleep out of them with one hand, so she didn't immediately notice who was standing there.

"Hi, Teresa." Finally looking up she saw the dirt-streaked, worn face of Josh looking down at her. "I'm sorry to have woken you up..."

Teresa didn't hear another word before she threw her arms about his neck. He just caught her, and she laughed in relief at seeing him safely home. Suddenly remembering herself (and the time) she pulled back and dragged him into the apartment with her, locking the door behind them.

"Rachel's on shift," she told him quickly. "Go and shower, you look exhausted! Are you hungry?"

"No, I ate at the airport, but some coffee would be great."

Briskly she tugged off his rucksack and began making him a cup of coffee. Ten minutes later he was in clean pyjamas and Teresa was waving him through to Rachel's room.

"She'll be back at about midday. I've got school so I'll be out from eight," she told him quickly, but reminded herself to write it down because he wasn't likely to remember. Part of her briskness was, she had to admit, eagerness to get back to her own bed and catch up on sleep until she had to get up at seven, but most of it was to get the poor man clean and into a comfortable bed asap. Rachel would find him in the apartment when she got back, and as Teresa burrito-d herself in her blankets and drifted off to sleep, she couldn't think of a better welcome for either of them.

She got back after school to an atmosphere of complete concentration and teamwork. They hadn't seemed to notice her entering so she leaned against her bedroom doorframe for a few minutes, watching them on the sofa as they conversed in intimate tones. Notes were strewn across the coffee table and some nature documentary on television played quietly in the background.

The phone ringing disturbed the peace. Teresa jumped and tried to make out that she'd just walked in by pushing her door open and tossing her rucksack on the bed absent-mindedly; as she crossed the room to answer the phone she heard it fall off the bed and groaned internally.

"Hello?"

"Are you coming over tonight?"

"Um...why...?"

"The X Files Season 2? We reminded you weeks ago!"

"Oh yeah. Damn." A quick glance over at the couple on the sofa, heads together once more, was enough for a decision. "Yeah, absolutely. I'll leave in ten minutes, I've just got back in from school."

"Ok that's cool! See you then. Don't forget, nine o'clock it starts and we've got orders down for milkshakes."

Teresa could hear the amused wink at the girls in their audible giggles through the phone. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten! She'd been looking forward to this all summer.

Or she would have had her mind not been in Rwanda almost every waking moment.

She threw a bag together, left her homework at home after a few seconds of deliberation and told Rachel where she was going, initially receiving only a nod and a "take the car, we're not going anywhere". However as she duly retrieved the keys Rachel called her back.

"Teresa, wait! What time will you be back tomorrow?"

"Not after ten, I've a lunchtime shift. Why?"

"You need a pretty dress."

"Why?" She thought she knew what the answer was but kept her face impassive.

"We're getting married as soon as we can. We thought tomorrow was a bit too soon so next Saturday. We're going to call all our friends and family tonight to tell them but you need a bridesmaid's gown."

"I thought we agreed, I was the flower girl? Isn't your sister the bridesmaid?"

"A girl can have two bridesmaids, Teresa," she responded, taking her hands. "I don't know what I'd've done without you this year so I'm asking you to be my bridesmaid. If you want."

"I'd love to!" Teresa barrelled into Rachel with a hug that pushed her back a couple of steps before she had a chance to reciprocate. "We'll go shopping Sunday, I know the mall is open then."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"No but there'll be plenty of food at Annabelle's. Not just junk food, actually - her mum doesn't mind us raiding the cupboards for anything we want so I'll be fine. Congratulations, you two."

Josh came over and hugged his fiancée from behind as she said the last words, and Teresa couldn't help but smile at the picture they made as she pulled the door shut behind her. Her promise to Annabelle fresh in her mind she ran down the stairs, thankful for her obligatory physical training, and was pulling out of the underground car park only ten minutes after she'd hung up.

It was Friday night, of course the traffic was horrific. After being stuck at an intersection for upwards of fifteen minutes as police directed traffic around an accident she began to fear she wouldn't make it in time. Silly, she told herself, staring herself down in the rear-view mirror and resisting the urge to join the cacophony of honking horns. You've got ages.

She got there at ten to seven, half an hour later than she would've had the road been clear, and the door opened before she'd finished parking in the tiny space between two cars a few yards down the road.

"You made it!"

"Yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. They're the roads from hell tonight," she apologised as she hugged her friend and ran upstairs to dump her stuff and let her hair out of its bun belfry joining the girls in the kitchen, where the milkshake ingredients and a piece of paper were there ready for her. She rolled her eyes in good humour at their expectant faces, dotted on the chairs at the island and squashed on the comfy sofa in the corner, and got to work.

While she was busy, Annabelle cleared her throat. Teresa smiled to herself as they recapped the plot at the end of Season One (for her sake, she imagined, though she could only hear half of what was said above the blender) and Evie stood up with yet another fanfiction.

"Why don't you publish that, Evie?" she wondered while handing Siena and Mathilde their banana milkshakes. "You've a real talent."

She flushed with pleasure. "Oh, I do! My boyfriend helped code a website for this kind of stuff, and already people are commenting on it."

Teresa smiled and turned back to her work, momentarily baffled by the concept of being able to write a website.

Josh's predicament had pushed the show to the back of her mind but now she was watching it again, the reminder of the reasons she loved it came flooding back and she had a hard time not squealing out loud with the others when the two agents met in the parking garage, and Scully took Mulder's hand. Why they hadn't kissed yet was ridiculous, as she thought and the others indignantly expressed after the hour was over and Teresa was snuggling down for bed.

"Going to bed already?"

"I've work in the morning."

"Ok." She turned her back to the others and shut her eyes, but found she couldn't sleep despite her aching eyes. Her excitement over Rachel's upcoming wedding, so soon after the months of not knowing when it would be, and her wondering how it would go as she'd never been to a wedding before, gave way after a while to uncertainty. Where would she live? She wasn't sure she had enough to move out, and she honestly wasn't sure if she was ready but of course she'd feel she was infringing on the couple's privacy by staying. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she wanted to stay as the third wheel to a now married couple. It was fine when he was just staying over between jobs, but they'd have a honeymoon. Or would it be just the same? Would the only difference be the addition of another ring on Rachel's finger?

With that question floating around her mind, she fell into a restless sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was intending to get this up before I left for London for my birthday yesterday but plans changed and it didn't happen, so apologies. It's up now, and I hope it's all right! I'm going to try and write more on the train home and over Christmas.
> 
> http://ko-fi.com/A347E4R

****The following week passed very quickly. Every time Teresa was home Rachel seemed to be in a flurry about something: first not being able to find a flower for Teresa's hair, eventually having to settle on a deeper, richer red than Samantha's (which Josh said would suit her much better anyway); then it was the bridal bouquet, then it was her father slipping and spraining his ankle so badly on the Thursday that he was unlikely to be able to walk her down the aisle in two days' time, unless he hopped on crutches.

"It's a disaster!" she cried into Josh's arms, Teresa awkwardly curled on the chair with a mug of hot chocolate and a textbook, wondering whether or not to retire to her room while the couple sorted things out.

"Could your mother walk you down?"

Rachel just looked up at him with scorn in her eyes and Teresa's awkwardness increased, her nose burrowing further into the pages of paramedical procedures.

"You know I'm not close to her."

"I know, it was just an idea."

"Can we push the wedding back? Just a week? Give him time to recover?"

"Rach, we've already changed the date twice. People are travelling down tomorrow."

"Maybe you could check it just before the ceremony and see if it's sound enough to walk on with one crutch?" Teresa offered up, her finger marking her place in her textbook. "You could bandage it up really tight, and the other crutch could be waiting halfway up the aisle in case he needs it." She took a mouthful of whipped cream off the top of her chocolate, licking up the moustache it gave her.

"That's not a bad idea, Teresa. Rach?"

"It could work," she replied hesitantly in a voice much nearer her normal pitch. "I'll call Mom tomorrow and see what she says, you know how she is when Dad's ill or injured."

"She does care for her family, you know."

"You know I know that but you aren't exactly close to your father, are you?" Josh grimaced so dramatically that Teresa felt compelled to ask why, exactly.

"Josh's father's a doctor, wanted him to follow in his footsteps."

"Ah."

"He likes Rach for obvious reasons, and his opinion of me went up significantly when he realised we were serious, but his soft spot's still definitely reserved for her."

Teresa didn't really know how to respond to that: normal families, with their issues, felt like nautical miles away from what she'd had growing up. Rachel yawned at that moment.

"I'm going to bed, I've a half-shift tomorrow, deep joy."

"I still can't believe they didn't give you the day off."

"They're short-handed due to illness at the moment. I'd like to keep my job, thanks. At least they didn't make me do the 24 hours."

"See you tomorrow." She reluctantly hauled herself out of Josh's arms, leaning down for one more quick kiss.

"I love you."

He watched her go the short distance to her room and Teresa looked away, engrossing herself in the intricacies of inflating a collapsed lung en route to hospital as much to distract herself as to give them privacy.

"I hope I'm not in the way," she mumbled, half-hoping Josh didn't hear her but no such luck: she saw him approach and crouch in front of her in her peripheral vision. Tucking her bookmark, a slip of leather with TERESA stamped into it by a cobbler friend of Josh's as his birthday gift to her, into the page she looked up at him.

"What makes you think you're in the way?" The question was genuine, not a hint of mocking in his tone. Teresa shrugged, now focusing on a corner of the plain walls as she felt an embarrassed flush creep into her cheeks.

"You and Rachel, you're about to be married and I'm still living in her apartment... Don't you want a space to yourselves?"

"Look at me, Teresa." She did so after a few seconds, her throat tight. "You're Rachel's friend, almost like a younger sister to her. Neither of us have the heart to turn you out, and even if we did, we like having you around."

Her scoff was an automatic response; to cover it up she immediately asked,

"Where are you going for your honeymoon?"

"That's something we were going to discuss with you...do you think you can keep the flat by yourself?"

Despite her own doubts at this very problem Teresa's hackles suddenly raised.

"Why? Do you think I can't?"

"No, I was just..."

"Just what?" She stood up then, crossing her arms over her book. "I know I'm _damaged_ , Josh, but I've been juggling work and school _and_ keeping Rachel sane while you were trapped in Rwanda, I think I can manage to feed myself for a couple of weeks."

Josh opened his mouth but she cut him off.

"I've survived whenever Rachel's been on shift, haven't I?"

"Teresa, I didn't mean..."

"And what about my mother? Did I just leave her to starve because she wasn't well enough to cook and Dad wasn't there?"

As soon as the words were out she regretted them. Unable to bear the expression on his face she closed her eyes and dropped her head until her chin rested on top of the book.

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok, Teresa."

She turned, and at the door to her room she paused.

"Goodnight, Josh. I'm glad you're marrying Rachel."

"So am I."

Teresa slipped into her room and changed at light-speed, pulling the covers over her head in mortification at lashing out at Josh when he'd been nothing but welcoming to the stranger in his then-girlfriend's house. She fell asleep sooner than she expected to, and when she woke (a blissful ten minutes before her alarm) she realised she felt an amount of catharsis at having been brave enough to defend herself and her autonomy. To her surprise it wasn't too awkward over breakfast; she and Rachel were both rushing, and while Josh had a bit more time before he had to report to the office he was still struggling with his tie while holding a piece of toast between his teeth.

"See you later." Rachel pecked Josh on the mouth before flying out the door; Teresa realised half-way down the stairs that she'd left her book on her floor and had to turn back, running headlong into Josh as he went to lock the door behind him.

"I'm really sorry about last night," they both started, and Teresa gestured for him to go first.

"I'm sorry I voiced my concern about your responsibility. It's been months since I've seen you and I had no right to question you."

"I'm sorry I lashed out. Again, not my place."

"But you had every right to." They shared smiles, then Teresa's watch beeped for the hour and she hurriedly pushed open the door, retrieved her book and ran so fast down the stairs she passed Josh halfway down.

"Come on Josh, bus'll be here any minute!" she called jokingly over her shoulder as she passed, and, buoyed on the sound of his laughter, she made the fifteen-minute walk to work in ten.

***

That night when Teresa got home from school after a late study session, she found Josh pouting at the door to Rachel's room with his pyjamas and a blanket piled in his arms.

"Didn't you know it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?" she quipped as she tossed her bag into her room before kicking off her shoes, sinking onto the sofa and wishing she hadn't agreed to the study session after an opening shift. Her brain was still buzzing with procedures and medical instruments and conditions and notes that ER doctors would need to know, and coupled with the fact that one ear was smushed against the cushions she barely heard his reply,

"But my _suit's_ in there!"

"Ugh. Fine. I'll get it for you." Dragging herself up she opened the door just enough to slip inside and retrieved the suit in its cover.

"Teresa! Wait a bit."

"Why?"

"Well a) I feel sick with nerves but b) I kind of enjoy making him squirm."

An unbidden, conspiratory chuckle rose in her chest as she perched on the bed, dropping loud enough that the springs squeaked. They giggled at his overly dramatic groan and Teresa waited until she heard oil sizzling in a frying pan before leaving with a parting hug for the bride-to-be.

As she glanced casually at her watch, however, she realised what time it was.

"Oh, I completely forgot about X Files!" she cried out, and Rachel popped her head out at the same time as Josh dropped something in the sink. Teresa pushed Rachel back into her room.

"You could still make it if you leave now!" came floating through the door.

"I don't want to be late to help you get ready!"

"The ceremony's not until eleven!"

"Do you have any idea how long it takes the girls to do their makeup on a normal day? You'll need at least three hours, plus we've got to get there and make sure everything's in place!" Teresa quickly weighed the pros and cons in her mind. "I'll come back after the episode."

"If it's not too late a night..."

"I'm training to be a paramedic. This is just extra practise," was her parting shot as she grabbed the car keys, told Josh where she was going and pulled on her shoes, running out the door with a threat to assail him if he so much as looked in the direction of Rachel's room.

Many milkshakes and bowls of popcorn later she was bidding a miffed group of girls good night as she hopped back in the car and made the trip back home. She favoured the bigger roads and their safety in numbers, but even they were incredibly quiet at this time of night. An ambulance whizzed past in the other direction, followed a few minutes later by two fire engines, and she was filled with a sense of pride that that was what she was training for: to help those most at need, at all hours, driving through late-night traffic with sirens blazing and a partner in the back readying everything for the scene.

When she got back Josh was asleep on the sofa and everything was quiet so she supposed Rachel was also asleep, and crept through to her room on tiptoes. His tuxedo was hanging on the hooks on the back of the door, the women's dresses were in their respective rooms, all laid out with shoes and jewellery and handbags ready. Teresa stood for a moment, lightly holding a fold of the beautiful red fabric between her forefinger and thumb, and her excitement for the following day was tempered with a little sadness. Much as she loved her life here, loved Rachel and Josh and her studies, even her hectic schedule, she didn't really fit in in San Francisco.

**September 24th 1994, Rachel's wedding day**

During the ad breaks the previous night the girls had asked her tons of questions and given her well-meant, but seemingly irrelevant, tips for the wedding preparation, and as Teresa gave Josh a final once-over with the lint roll and ushered him out the door for the last time before he was to be a married man, she sent up a silent thank you to her friends and their love of all things girly. She wasn't even in her dress yet, though Samantha - Rachel's older sister - had done her makeup and hair, so she decided it would be a good idea to put the kettle on for the two sisters holed up in the bride's room.

Balancing two coffees and a hot chocolate in her two hands she knocked on the door with her knee and was immediately brought into the fold. Rachel's hair was half curled, her make-up simple. She hugged her coffee as she sat cross-legged on the bed in her dressing gown, and Samantha, a more curvy, blonder version of Rachel, wafted the curling wand in a rather disconcerting manner as she asked Teresa how Josh was doing.

"He's all dressed up and gone to the hotel," she told them, picking up a marshmallow on her tongue and letting it melt. It had already been a while since breakfast and all the rushing around and new stress had made her hungry. Glancing at her watch, without which her wrist now felt strange, she saw it was gone nine; Samantha was now dancing around to the Faith Hill song blaring on the cassette player and Teresa had to turn it down to get her attention.

"We've less than two hours to get there."

"Eh, no worry. Bride's always late anyway."

Teresa sent Rachel a helpless look; the latter shrugged with the shoulder that didn't currently have a hot curling iron held a mere few inches above it.

Her warning seemed to have worked though, for the hair was finished within five minutes, the dresses on and nails painted and drying in ten, and they were in the car with suitcases in the back and Teresa as chauffeur at just the right time to be fashionably late; late enough for Josh and everyone else to have taken their seats in the hall, but not too late that her father had to wait for too long.

They all shivered in their dresses as they stepped out of the car.

"Glad I got those shawls now?" Teresa asked, rubbing her arms as they walked into the hotel together, the bandages ready in her hand in case the father of the bride needed them.

"Absolutely. God, I'm nervous."

"You'll be fine." Samantha pulled her sister into a hug, and Rachel reached out an arm to Teresa, who was hovering awkwardly on the periphery, to bring her into the hug.

"Ok, I think I'm ready. Dad, your ankle ok?"

"Feeling much better than I would've expected, chick." He thanked Teresa for her quick once-over and held his arm out to his daughter, but before she took it she turned to her bridesmaids, standing just behind her.

"I'm so glad you're both here for this."

"Go get 'em, sis."

Rachel met Teresa's eye and she nodded, a nervous smile on both their faces as the doors were flung open and the families turned to face them. The hall was surprisingly full considering the short notice. Teresa's heart hammered in her chest and she was sure someone would notice her smile had become tight, her eyes slightly panicked at the sea of strangers looking at her. Logically she knew they were staring at Rachel, and for good reason for she looked the most beautiful Teresa had ever seen her since the days she'd woken up in hospital to her friendly face at her bedside, but she would swear she could feel a pair of eyes on her bare back as they passed the half-way point.

It was a beautiful ceremony; Rachel and Josh exchanged vows in voices only just loud enough for vicar, bridesmaids and best man to hear, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house when it was over and they were making their way back down the aisle, the happy couple practically joined at the hip. But Teresa couldn't shift the feeling that someone was staring at her, and when Josh asked as they waited to sign the register if she was all right she shrugged it off, not wanting to ruin their day.

They had the rest of the day to go off and do their own thing before the reception that evening; she and Samantha just sat around with their heels off in the hotel lounge after a light lunch, chatting. Or rather, Sam (as she told her bluntly she'd prefer to be called) did all the talking and Teresa struggled to get an answer in edgeways. She was an interesting person though: she lived in L.A. and worked for a publishing firm, proofreading final drafts of stories before they went to the printing press, and Teresa listened with awe to the sheer number of words she sometimes read in a week and with fascination to her thoughts on human behaviour through the stories she'd read, both for work and for fun.

"L.A.'s a fun place, have you ever been?"

"No. I grew up in Sacramento, the furthest we got to a holiday was Disneyland when I was six."

"You poor sausage. You should visit me sometime, I can show you the sights and the holes-in-the-wall. There's this _fantastic_ diner on the Alameda and Ord Street intersection, they do the best coffee..."

Teresa didn't mean to, but she zoned out a little while Sam ranted on about the virtues of this diner, trying to picture L.A. in her head.

"... Only problem - well, it's not really a _problem_ , per se, more of a blessing because firemen are hot - it's constantly full of firemen and paramedics, rookie cops too."

"Did you say paramedics?"

"Yeah, the diner's practically half-way between the police academy and the fire department. The rookie cops make me nervous but at least there's always someone on hand to help if someone burns themselves, eh?"

Teresa chuckled along but a seed of an idea had been planted in her brain, and questions of all kinds popped into her head. If Sam was perplexed at the sudden onslaught she didn't show it.

The next half an hour flew by and it was interrupted by Rachel and Josh's parents coming to join in the chatter. They had with them a boy of about twenty who was almost the spitting image of Josh, introduced as his younger brother. Simon had a shock of dark hair and eyes the exact colour of his mother's, and a piercing stare that sent chills down Teresa's spine. She self-consciously pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as the new additions to the group pulled up chairs and started talking about the ceremony and the sights to see in San Francisco, which Josh's mother complained were "dull, and too far away from each other for a day's trip". Teresa kept quiet; she did after all want them to like her and this was the first opportunity she'd had to actually get to know her best friend's and her husband's parents. She kept catching Simon staring at her though, or just looking away when she looked over and though she tried to engage him in conversation as they were of similar age, he proved an unwilling talker, and she was grateful when Sam dragged her to the ladies' to refresh their makeup for the reception dinner.

She'd been graciously spared the mortification of having to prepare a speech, and she enjoyed the dinner all the more for it despite being seated opposite Simon's stare.

"Please could you stop watching me?" she whispered across the table at one point, under pretence of passing the salt to his neighbour.

"Why?"

"It's making me uncomfortable."

"Oh. Sorry."

He focused on his duck breast for a grand total of five minutes before his gaze landed on her again and she gave up.

Afterwards during the dancing, she'd accepted a quick turn with Josh just to appease his parents, who thought that the pretty young bridesmaid shouldn't be left alone all evening, but as soon as he let her retreat back to the edge Simon sidled up to her. _Was he going to bug her all evening?_ she thought desperately, staring in every direction except to the right.

"Will you dance with me?"

It was the longest sentence she'd yet heard him utter but she still didn't look at him while she politely declined.

"Don't worry, you wouldn't just be doing me a favour...I could do you one too..." His hand slid along the dip in the back of her dress and gripped her waist, and she forgot about the wedding, the party, the fact that she stood out in her deep red gown amongst the black tuxedos and pastel dresses. She saw red, pushed him forcefully away from her (sending him stumbling into a stack of chairs in the process) and half-ran for the French doors into the garden. She pushed through the people taking refuge from the heat on the patio and made for a hidden corner she'd found while taking a breath of air that afternoon, crouching behind the bushes in a shaking mess. She forgot about her makeup and swiped her hand across her eyes, the chill seeping through her thin gown and turning her scared shakes into freezing shivers. Her feet hurt from the strappy heels Rachel, and then Sam, had insisted on.

"Teresa?" It was Josh, but her initial reaction was still to shrink back into the foliage. "What happened in there? Was it Simon?"

She nodded pathetically, coming back to her senses and hating herself for ruining the celebrations.

"He's a horrible flirt, I'm sorry. I should've warned him off, you're the only one here his age." He reached out a hand, palm up, and she hesitated.

"Come inside, Teresa, you'll catch your death of cold."

"You go and enjoy yourself, I'm fine," she mumbled through chattering teeth. Josh sighed.

"I'll go get Rachel, would that help?"

Teresa nodded, the lump creeping back into her throat. She tucked her knees up to her chest and only when Rachel slipped a shawl round her shoulders did she move.

"I'm sorry about the dress."

"Don't worry about the dress." Rachel stayed with her until she could talk without choking, then she asked if she wanted to go back in or go to bed, or stay a little longer outside.

"I..."

"I don't mind if you want to go to bed, as long as you'll be ok in the room on your own."

"I ruined your perfect day."

"No, you didn't. We took a little detour and that's fine."

"Is Simon ok?"

"Simon got taken down a peg or two with your shove into the chairs and for that I'm glad. Josh has taken him aside and is threatening to lock him in his room for the rest of the night."

"Oh, gosh. How many saw?"

"Only the people directly around you. Ten at most. It's dark, people are drunk. They don't notice much, and anything they do they won't remember. Seriously."

Teresa was suddenly filled with the urge to be alone with a hot water bottle and Disney songs.

"I think I want to go to bed."

"Ok. We'll have to go back through the dancefloor, do you think you can manage that?"

She nodded and let Rachel help her up. People kept catching the bride as she weaved her way through the dancers but she politely shut them up until they were out the door. A female server was standing outside, packing dirty glasses onto a trolley.

"Please could you get Miss Ortiz safely back to her room? Her key should be at reception."

"Of course, ma'am."

Rachel kissed Teresa on the cheek.

"Thank you for coming. I'm so proud of you."

A small, "Congratulations," was all Teresa managed in response before the server whisked her away to reception to pick up her room key and escort her back up to her room.

The first thing she did was put her room kettle on for a hot water bottle, then while it was boiling she struggled with the dress. There was a water stain on the back where she'd sat on the ground and light scratches along her shoulders from the twigs, which she noticed while rubbing the concealer and foundation off the tattoo on the back of her neck. In all honesty she was impressed it had stayed on for so long; she'd applied it before Sam had got to the house that morning to avoid awkward questions.

Despite thinking she wouldn't be able to sleep from the excitement of the day and mortification at her outburst she was fast asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.


End file.
